


Hero Time: Side Stories

by RenaRoo



Series: Hero Time [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 36,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories from the Hero Time AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Becoming Dad

He was still in a bit of a daze. They said something about Caboose being unconscious, about the attacks letting up across the city, but Tucker was still focused on the bomb that Doc had dropped when he first got his eyes opened.

“You’re the worst fucking medical professional ever. _No wonder you were kicked out of medical school!”_ Church was still raving so vehemently it was almost too easy to forget just days before Tucker had watched a lifeless body hit the ground. 

None of it really mattered. Grabbing his glasses from the nearby box and pulling himself into a sitting position that didn’t stretch the aching muscles of his torso, Tucker was able to finally see the nearby crate. He guessed Doc worked with what they could manage to get in the chaos and discourse of the city being invaded. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he pulled himself over to the linen lined box, but whatever it was, it hadn’t prepared him for the immediate heart stopping fear when the bundle moved.

Tiny, bright eyes turned on him, and the alien jaws opened as the little creature kicked and grabbed with his limbs.

It was like the baby already knew.

Tucker reached forward, let the four fingered hand grab his own and smiled. “Hey, little dude. I guess I’m your dad.”


	2. Hacker Love Stories

“OW FUCK”

Church’s eyes widened and he stared at the crack right down the center of his laptop. when a second shot skidded across the pipe right by his head, he flattened down to the asphalt entirely. 

“That was my laptop, you fucking bastards!” he shouted just before he heard the crunching of boots racing across the roof behind him. He looked just enough over his shoulder to see the black blur of his leather clad heroine leaping over him and toward the gang members brave enough to still be standing on the other end of the alley. 

Church sat up, watching as Tex barreled through the goons like they were a stack of bowling pins.

He cupped his hands over his mouth and screamed, “STOP USING ME AS A MEAT SHIELD! I DON’T HAVE SUPER POWERS, YOU STUPID BITCH!”

“Don’t hack bank accounts of all these mob bosses then, you cock bite!” she yelled back as she grabbed two of the men and knocked their heads together before kicking another from behind.

“I WAS DOING IT FOR YOU!” he reminded her. His eyes widened before he flattened again just to avoid the gangster thrown at his head. He sat up to yell at Tex again only to see she had gone invisible. He shook his head. “Fuck me.”

“I plan on it,” he heard her say just before he was smacked over the back of his head with an invisible hand.


	3. Chapter 3

The goal was to eventually have it so that everyone had their signature heist. Everyone was meant to use their heists to really stick it to the systems that had done them wrong. 

Or just irritated them, which was Grif’s preference.

Like, honestly, _what_ bagel was worth eight dollars? Especially in their shitty part of town.

And then there were just the times they were all sat around the poker table in Sarge’s basement and the door would fling open and they just _knew_ what was about to happen.

“Do you know how much I had to pay for the laundromat!?” Donut called out, racing down the stairs, two steps at a time.

Everyone shuffled their hand. “Hi, Donut.”

Donut paused, grin bright, and he waved. “Oh, _hiiiiiiii_ guys! Okay but listen, do you know how much the laundromat costs?”

Sarge threw a thumb toward his personal machines and grunted. 

Grif just raised a brow. “Who washes _clothes_ anymore?”

Simmons released a disgusted noise and shook his head before putting down his hand. “Ideally if you used the cleaners, it costs about two dollars if you use the one on the corner of Battle Creek and Sidewinder–”

“Oh, mine costs one fifty,” Donut explained, pulling up a chair. “You’re getting ch-e-e-eated, Simmons.”

“What’s the point of this, Donut?” Grif snapped finally.

“Right, so you put quarters in the machine, right?”

“I don’t,” Sarge announced. 

“We know,” Grif and Simmons responded in unison.

“Well, there was this sweet ol’ lady at the laundromat today, and she put in almost _twenty bucks_ in change, those machines just kept taking it. And she had to wash with my load instead. She was _so_ distraught! I called the manager number and he said he’d give her _one_ free wash, but it’s not his fault that she kept putting money into a broken machine after the first time. Like. How rude!”

The gang looked to each other, then back to Donut. As expected, there was a flicker in his eyes. 

“So it gave me an idea…”


	4. Best Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church babysits for Junior on his own for the first time. Tucker's not convinced this is a good idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from SaintAsh : )

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ to do it, it was simply that the very idea that Caboose was called first burned him up more inside than he could ever properly explain.   


“He’s teething so any time he puts something in his mouth, make sure it’s something that isn’t important. I’ve been using these sharpening block thingies we have at the diner and–”

Church was leaned over the poorly constructed playpen that Junior was currently rolling around in before he stood back up and glared at Tucker. “So you’re _sharpening_ his mouth of fangs?” he asked critically. “How’s _that_ supposed to help the furniture problem?”

Tucker put his hands on his hips, the favoring of his left side still very much apparent even a few months after the emergency procedure. “Church, goddammit, just lemme call Caboose and–”

“ _I_ am your monstersitter tonight, Tucker. End of story,” Church responded, crossing his arms.   


There was a twitch in Tucker’s eye as he looked at Church after hearing his child referred to as ‘monster’ yet again. He rubbed at his face and groaned before walking over to the playpen and frowning down at Junior. He looked back at Church worriedly.

Rolling his eyes, Church sighed in aggravation, dropping his shoulders. “Alright. I’ll do something, I don’t know, _responsible_ with him. Do you want me to read a book or like… educational programming?”

Relief came across Tucker’s shoulders a bit and he nodded. “Thanks, Church, you’re the best.”

“Motherfucker, I am _aware_ I am the best,” Church said back with a sniff. “I just have to remind you every now and then.”  



	5. Do It for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Wash gets advice from his fellow Freelancers about heroes and romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

He scratched at his chin as he turned his head at her. It just… didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him at the end of the day.   


“It’s the ultimate sign of affection,” Tex continued, arms crossed as she nodded to herself. “It’s saying ‘hey, I care about you, but I am also acknowledging that I can be a real magnet for bullshit you’ll get caught up in, and eventually I may need to find your corpse and-or unconscious body.’“

Wash felt himself go a little green. “Why would you say _corpse_ first–”

“Dude, do _not_ ask her about her previous love life, it’ll take a while,” York snorted, lightly elbowing Wash. “But she’s totally right here.”

“Of course I am,” Tex snapped.

“I just… I think it’d almost be a more important gesture if you love someone to show that you trust them and want to respect their boundaries,” Wash explained lowly. “This seems like… so the _opposite_ of that…”

“That’s because it is, but look at it this way,” York waved to Wash. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t microchip your cats?”

Wash frowned at him. “… _maybe…_ But… I don’t feel like that’s the same–”

“Yeah, York, cats aren’t _people_ or anything,” Tex snarked.

“Okay, now I’m just uncomfortable,” Wash sighed.   



	6. Not Your Sidekick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker has some strong opinions about Wash roping him in for sidekick work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

Tucker had never been more disgusted to see a sunrise in his life than he was right then, squatted on a rooftop with his fingers dragging through the tarmac surface as he gathered the throwing knives lost to the previous night’s pursuits. He found himself glaring over his shoulder again to a plain clothes Washington, hunched over doing the same.

With a grunt, Tucker turned more directly to the veteran hero and shouted across the distance, “Hey! Wash! This feels like sidekick bitch work. Why am _I_ the one out here in the cold looking for missing stray knives instead of my kid?”

Washington straightened up, kicking at the roofing for a moment with a certain amount of conversation he obviously wasn’t offering for conversation. “Probably because I enjoy hearing you complain so much. It just _fills_ me with satisfaction,” he responded.

“Hardy har har,” Tucker grunted, getting up with a hand full of the hero’s signature knives. “Here. For you never ending collection. You ever considered switching to a different weapon? Something that, I don’t know, _returns_ to you? Like a boomerang?”

Turning slightly, Wash offered his hand out, accepting the knives as Tucker slipped them over. He smirked. “But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to waste time with you.”

Tucker glared at him. “Don’t _even._ Not _this_ early in the morning.” He patted Wash’s cheek before walking by him. “But it was a smooth attempt. You’re learning to flirt.”

“Living with the Tuckers, I don’t have much of a choice.”


	7. Challenge the System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif is not a fan of Simmons' heist idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh : )

Grif rubbed roughly at his chin, feeling the scratch of the whiskers Kai had complained about when he dropped her off that morning, and kept an eye carefully on the library. 

He was very much in agreement with Donut and Sarge – this was the _dumbest_ idea that they had let pass since they became a gang. And if it hadn’t been Simmons’ plan, Grif would have gladly joined Donut and Sarge in going straight to the poker match and avoiding the library all together.

How Lopez had been convinced to join Simmons’ madness was still beyond him. 

With an aggravated sigh, Grif looked to the clock on his dashboard then back to the crappy library door. “You have _one minute_ left, Simmons. I swear to god.” 

The words had hardly left his mouth when he saw two forms – one brown and one maroon – cartoonishly leaping out from the library door. And if it hadn’t been ridiculous enough on its own, the maroon then spun around to carefully shut the door behind him despite the dramatic exit. 

“What a loser,” Grif sighed, throwing out his cigarette and pulling down his face mask the rest of the way again. He didn’t even look at his so-called partners in crime as they tore the doors open then slammed them shut after scooting in. “Did you get… _whatever?”_

“Yes!” Simmons shouted excitedly. “Hurry! Let’s go before someone catches us!”

“Yeah, sure,” Grif snorted, putting the car in drive. “I don’t even know why you think anyone would care–”

“Grif. The Dewey Decimal System has been established for _centuries_ at this point,” Simmons snapped out as they took off down the road. He threw off his mask, his hair sticking up on ends. “The libraries of the country will _never_ change without motivation. Even if my proposed system of classification is far more relevant and understandable with an emphasis on better dividing the branches of science–”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Grif reminded Simmons, looking over his shoulder to him. “I just don’t want you to act surprised when you go to work Monday and they make _you_ rearrange all the books.”

Simmons’ mouth hung open for a retort that never came. Instead his eyes grew wide and horrified while Lopez broke out into snorting laughter. 


	8. The Invasion, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tex and York make some plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

She didn’t try to show up late for the party, it was just one of those signatures she hadn’t managed to shake even years into the business. 

The largest ship, the one grounded central to the city, was pulsing with the same strange, green energy that she had seen coming out of the weapons these aliens were using. For whatever reason, every time she picked them up after taking out their wielders, the weapons no longer worked.

It was… _odd_ , to say the least.

But, then again, what _wasn’t_ odd during an alien invasion.

“Hey.”

Tex, turned, fists up out of habit, and glared as York raised his hands up cheekily in his approach. She let out a huff and rested her hands on her hips instead, head thrown back. “And here I thought someone helpful would show up,” she joked, turning back to the ship and burning city.

“Nah, you’re never that lucky,” he said back, stopping by her side. York let out a low whistle as he looked over the destruction. “What a time for the whole gang to be scattered in the wind, huh?”

“Those energy weapons aren’t normal,” Tex announced, ignoring York’s attempts at small talk. “I’ve not had the bad luck of being close and personal with their blasts, but I’ve seen them… one hit and the person’s gone. Not just gone… something _happens_ to them. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like they’re using people as… batteries or something.”

“They should convert to solar, bound to be easier than going through all this,” York said with a nod to the city.

“York.”

“I know, serious business,” he sighed. “I already have Delta shouting at me over my earpiece. But loud as he is, he doesn’t have much of a plan beyond _retreat.”_ He looked to her, a small smirk on his face. “I’m betting you have a better plan, though, right?”

“We might not walk away from this,” she warned. “It’s serious. _Deadly_ serious.”

“Hey. What else kinda danger is there for a hero?”  



	9. Car Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash would either walk away from this single or with a newfound bonding experience with Junior. There was no inbetween.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

The one factoid that Washington would hold onto for dear life was that _Tucker_ had been the one to suggest they take his car. He _insisted_ that it would be the sensible option to get Junior to basketball practice across town. 

Of course, Tucker also had very strict rules about _absolutely no superheroing around his car._ But surely he wouldn’t insist that Wash take the car if he didn’t think _something_ involving villains and heroes and mass explosions wasn’t bound to follow him. 

Still, he stood by the vehicle, grabbing at his hair and biting down on his lip. Wash’s eyes couldn’t tear themselves from the door-sized dent on the back passenger’s door. 

Junior nibbled nervously on his fingers before looking to Wash and letting out a low hum of noise.

“How often does Tucker even go on this side of the car, really?” Wash wondered out loud. “We could… push out some of that. Surely. We’ve fixed worse before. You could push that out, Junior. Right? You pressed three hundred pounds like it was nothing yesterday…”

The alien let out a questioning coo that drew Wash’s attention to him more directly.

“Tell him? No. Absolutely not. Under _no_ circumstances is your father to hear about this. We will go to our graves with this one,” Wash said firmly.

Junior grew a worried expression and pointed at himself. “Blarg?”

“Of course it’s because I’m going to be in more trouble than you if Tucker finds out,” Wash responded, hands on his hips. “That’s not even a question, really. One of us here is replaceable.”


	10. Cleaning Up Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut's heist is not everyone's most enthusiastic moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SaintAsh prompt : )

Donut was nearly _bursting_ with energy as they stood just outside. It was late enough at night that even in the summer heat of Blood Gulch there was nearly no one around. The chances of there being _too_ much of a situation in the laundromat were slim to none.   


And yet it was still just _that much more exhilarating_!

“Donut, you try to grab my hand to squeeze it _one more time_ I swear to god I’ll turn us all in to the police right here and now,” Grif warned angrily as Donut slipped closer next to him.   


Not missing a beat, Donut stepped back, grin wide beneath his mask. “Shhh! _Orrrraaaange_ , we can’t use real names in the field! We don’t want them to be used against us!” he chided.   


“Oh, horseshit–”

“Light-Red is right, numbnuts!” Sarge growled, coming around from his and Simmons’ side of the getaway vehicle. 

“That’s such a dumb codename!” Grif argued for what seemed like the hundredth time. “And explain to me again why you’re Red Leader, Simmons is Maroon-Red, Donut is _Light-Red?_ Just be your fucking colors! Like me, I’m Orange. End of story!”

“Grif, you are _literally_ saying our codenames with our real names out loud, in public, right before a heist,” Simmons snapped out. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Besides, I _wanted_ you to be Persimmon but you said _no,”_ Donut reminded Grif pointedly. “You have no one to blame but yourself for being _Orange.”_

_“I like Orange, that’s not the goddamn point!”_ Grif howled back.   


“Ohhhhh,” Donut said, tapping on his chin. “Huh. Well, what _is_ the point then, Grif? You’re sending _very_ mixed signals–”

Grif pointed angrily at Donut, looking to Sarge and Simmons. “He just said _my_ name! Are you two going to give him shit or what?”

“Technically _you_ started it,” Simmons said with a noncommital shrug.

“I hate all of you,” Grif growled.

“And we don’t care,” Sarge snapped back before looking to Donut. “Light-Red, are you leading the charge?”

Grinning, Donut nodded his head rapidly. “Posi-tuitively!” he called out before doing just that, kicking open the door of the laundromat. “Alright, boys and gals, stick ‘em up! And do it real high! Unless you’re holding cashmere. Believe me, I _totally_ get it if that’s the case!”

On the other end of the laundromat a single man with dreads stood staring at the invading Red Gang. “Are you _fucking serious?”_ he demanded. “I just wanted to clean my kid’s blanket!”


	11. Educational Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons babysit Junior. Allegedly.

Grif barely had to rummage to find the six pack in the fridge. He might’ve shared his fair amount of blows with Tucker over the last few months after the whole _sister thing_ , but the man had predictably reliable tastes. That alone earned him all the respect he would need in the book of Dexter Grif.   


He could do a solid and watch an alien baby for a few hours with the promise of beers and the company of his choice.

Of course, the game barely started on the television, Grif found his view from the couch being obstructed by a pile of brightly colored _things_ dropped on the coffee table before him.

“Whoa whoa whoa! What the hell!” Grif shouted out, nearly spilling his opened beer on the cushion beside him, and the rolling around baby alien as a result. He glared more directly at Simmons. “The fuck is all this, Simmons?”

“HONK!” Junior called out, kicking and grabbing at the air. 

Simmons blinked, as if completely taken by surprise by Grif’s question. “Educational material!” he responded. “What else are we doing here?”

Grif waved emphatically to the television. “Watching the game! Tucker even asked me to text him the score!”

That seemed to go completely over Simmons’ head as he was reaching into the piles of toys and DVDs to grab a board game. “I’m pretty sure he was talking about _Miss Frizzle’s Interactive School Bus Ride with Additional DVD Commentary_ and not the Grifball tournament, Grif,” he said flippantly.

“Uh, I fucking disagree. He was wearing a _Grifball Jersey_ under his uniform when he left,” Grif reminded Simmons. His eyes widened as he saw Simmons turn toward the entertainment system. “Simmons, you touch the channel and you die–”

_CLICK_


	12. Baby Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Junior's early days weren't always fantastic

Tucker wasn’t _entirely_ sure how he ended up on the linoleum. It was cold, kind of made his face feel like it could melt into the surface, and above all else it was a concrete reminder of where gravity pointed him.   


Which was good since the splitting headache in unison with the squealing cries from his living room were working in unison to make him forget what was up and what was down.

“Ugh,” he whined somewhat pathetically, turning onto his back and digging the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. “Church! Caboose! Please check on Junior! _Please!”_

He waited, sucking in a deep breath as he dropped his arms down to his sides, staring tearfully at the ceiling.   


Tex was dead. Church was dead and more annoying than he had been in life somehow. Caboose was gone gathering parts for some hairbrained scheme of his and Church’s to solve the aforementioned Church issue. And beyond that, this _wasn’t_ their apartment together anymore. 

The whole world had gone to shit, and it was just Tucker and Junior in the whole goddamn apartment.

“Why me?” Tucker begged the air, his hands subconsciously working their way to the bandages around his abdomen. Junior’s screaming intensified, but for the time being Tucker laid on the kitchen floor, wondering what in his shitty kitchen could make an alien baby content.   


Taking another breath, Tucker pushed himself up. “Okay,” he muttered, wiping roughly at his eyes. “Okay.”   


He started toward the fridge. He _had_ to make this work.  



	13. Everything'll Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Church in the early days wait for Tex to rescue them

Tucker wiggled, strained, and altogether made being tied back-to-back even less pleasurable than usual. Which was a state Church never thought he’d get to in his life: where he’d know what being tied back-to-back with another man in a dank sewer somewhere _usually _felt like.

He glared over his shoulder. “Would you fucking stop? You’re going to chaff me.”

“How can you be so calm!?” Tucker demanded, looking back wildly. “These guys are serious! They can kill us!”

“Probably,” Church said back with a shrug.

“They broke my glasses!”

“They were shitty anyway. You need a new pair,” Church said flippantly.

“You’re the _worst _best friend, oh my god, how are you not worried at all?”

Church groaned in aggravation and adjusted to look at Tucker seriously. “Would you calm down? Tex is going to come and save us. Just… don’t worry about it. Alright? Worst comes to worst I’ll try to get a hold of Caboose next.”

Tucker paled.

“Neither of those options sound painless,” he said back.

“Yeah, I know,” Church sighed.


	14. Every Damsel Needs a Henchman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Church's hacking gets him in lots with the wrong people and Tex isn't around to help, he finds himself reaching out to new heroic alternatives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: Prompt for the hero au... Caboose meeting Church, but caboose is like the henchman of a bad guy and just gets attached to church after kidnapping him (for like hacking?) and wanted to become a hero like church so he started fallowing him
> 
> The details for the way Caboose gets involved may change when I get around to writing the Prequel with Church and Tex, but man this anon really inspired me a lot on this front : )

Tex had a rule, and while few things tended to please Church more than going exactly against her word he knew better than to play that game when his life was on the line. 

That rule was rather clear that if he was to do some hacking or spy work outside of her direction, and if he were to specifically be caught and placed in danger _because_ of that tendency of his to cut himself a break from his little cyber raids, she wasn’t about to put the extra leg work in and save his sorry ass while there was an entire city to save. 

It seemed simple enough at the time. Which was probably why he broke it so frequently. 

And was probably why, over a day into forced captivity, he was _still_ without rescue in some slimy basement close enough to a subway that he could count the minutes between trains. 

Or why his _new friends_ felt it was within their best interests to have this lugging henchmen stand by the only door to the room after the dummy had made a show of breaking their getaway car with his own hands. 

“Do you want to play _Go Fish_?” the guard asked for what might have been the hundredth time.

Church glared at the man for a moment before making a show of wiggling the arms tied firmly to his sides and jostling his gagged head. 

“I can hold your cards for you if you want me to, I promise not to look,” the man continued, plopping down in front of the chair that Church had been stuck to for twenty-two hours. “Yeah, I’m _really_ fair at cards. That is why I never win. But it’s okay, I have fun anyway.” 

Exasperated, Church looked over the guard’s head and toward the other, more witty kidnappers who were all muttering over a table and map. Church watched the smoke from the cigarettes build around the room and, rather hysterically, began calculating what it would take to burn the whole room down and give him an adequate cover for an escape.

Twenty-eight hours after being kidnapped – Tex _definitely_ wasn’t coming. 

He was so caught in his thoughts on how he was going to escape that it almost caught him by surprise when a handful of cards were dropped into his lap rather unceremoniously. 

Church looked at them then back up to the henchmen guarding him. The man was blinking back, perplexed himself. 

“Why aren’t you playing?” the man asked, a frown tugging on his lips. “Do you not want to play? Oh! Do you not talk because we’ve not met yet? Oh my god! How silly of me!” 

As the man held his hand out to shake, Church did a quick recheck of his own appendages – still tied by his side – then looked critically back at the henchman. 

“My name is Michael J. Caboose! And I think we are going to just be _best friends_ , Mister Hacker. Because my principal says you are never leaving here alive so that must mean we’ll be down here together for a very long time! I can’t wait to get started! IT’S GONNA BE GREAT!”

Church looked up to the ceiling then back to Caboose. He remembered the way the hench’s grip alone bent the metal frame of the getaway car. 

He got a new idea of how he was going to narrowly escape this one without Tex’s assistance. 


	15. Unexpected Family Additions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker comes home to a surprise after work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

It wasn’t necessarily that he knew something was wrong the moment that he opened the door, it was just that the moment he opened the door and was met with both Wash and Junior standing at the door, facing him, and shouting out a “HELLO” that nearly gave Tucker a heart attack, he started to get suspicious.

Tucker blinked at the both of them, looked down to his keys, and then back up. Wash was forcing eye contact which was almost as creepy as Wash forcing himself to smile. Junior was already spinning around and running off to his room.

The television was on and no one was washing it, and – by Washington standards – the apartment was a disaster. 

“What the fuck, dude?” Tucker groaned, shutting the door behind him and beginning to take off his coat. 

“What? What are you talking about?” Wash snapped back too quickly.

Tucker threw his keys on the counter top and whirled around on Wash. “What is _up_ with you?” He looked over Wash’s shoulder as he heard Junior’s bedroom door slam. “I didn’t even get a hug? What the fuck.”

Wash shrugged uncharacteristically. “Kids. Heh,” he responded, rubbing at his neck until it was red.

Narrowing his eyes, Tucker stepped up to Wash, getting in his face. “What did you break?”

“Why do you automatically assume I did something? Let alone _break_ something?” Wash replied.

“You are the worst liar. Ever,” Tucker responded. 

“Am not, I’ve kept a secret identity for almost fifteen years,” he replied, crossing his arms. 

“That doesn’t count. At all. How many assholes know your identity now?” Tucker demanded. “And you are _too_ a terrible liar. That’s why you just don’t answer questions with real answers usually.”

“Omitting information isn’t lying necessarily.” Wash said, trying so hard to not backtrack on previous arguments it was almost impressive. “Maybe you just have never caught me actually trying to lie before. Which this totally isn’t. Because I didn’t break anything.”

Tucker glared back. “What did _Junior_ break?”

“Nothing.”

Wash held Tucker’s look and even managed to puff up his chest as he put his hands on his hips. He didn’t seem to waver on that statement, which _did_ make it seem like less of a lie…

Tapping his finger on the counter, Tucker shook his head and decided to give it up for the time being. He walked over to the entertainment center, trying _hard_ to ignore how Wash was all but stepping on his heels.

“Wash, I swear to god–”

“I think we should decompress. Watch TV for a bit, relax. You seem tense,” Wash babbled. Which was odd since he never babbled.

“I don’t _want_ to watch TV, I want to know what the hell is going on!” Tucker yelled, grabbing the remote and turning it off before whirling around on Wash. 

They stared at each other for a moment.

It was only broken when there was a quiet mewing from behind Junior’s closed door. 

While Wash didn’t so much as flinch, Tucker faced his son’s door and stared in abject horror as the noise continued. He turned back to Wash who, true to form, still hadn’t moved. 

“You brought a cat home?”

“What?”

Tucker stared at him. “Wash, I’m not deaf, that’s a _cat_ meowing!”

“HONK!” cried out from behind the door.

“Yes it IS!” Tucker yelled back at Junior. “You’re not off the hook either!”

Wash frowned. “You should just look at it–”

“ _Wash,”_ Tucker warned. 

“You don’t live with Caboose anymore. It shouldn’t be that much of a problem–”

“Wash!”


	16. Undercover Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reds' upcoming heist has some requirements not all of them agree to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

“This is dumb. It’ll also get us caught. But it’s also _just dumb.”_

Simmons pulled at his hat and nervously adjusted his sunglasses all while managing to still give Grif an incredulous look. It was almost impressive if he wasn’t so pale and sweaty from nervously glancing around.

Grif wore nothing different than his usual attire. His hands were firm on his hips and his head was shaking in aggravation. Even if, for the most part, everyone on the street just walked by, business as usual. For Blood Gulch.

Donut stood proudly in his sharp, black tuxedo and bright pink corsage. His mile wide grin had yet to waver. 

“I like it!” he announced.

“No one cares,” Grif and Simmons responded in unison.

“In fact,” Donut continued, mood not dampened at all, “I feel like new codenames are in order.”

“Codenames for our already very unoriginal codenames?” Grif asked grouchily. “Beautiful. What next, Donut? Signs saying: ‘hey, if you have gas siphoned from your pumps tomorrow? TOTALLY not the suspicious looking guys!’”

Tilting his head slightly, Donut blinked. “Why? Do you think that’d help, too?”

“Donut, don’t encourage his bad moods,” Simmons moaned. He looked nervously back down to his wristwatch. “Where the fuck are Lopez and Sarge? Especially Lopez! This is _his_ stupid heist!”

“Oh, and now we’re just saying ‘heist’ in public, too. Fucking beautiful,” Grif growled, crossing his arms.

“See, this is why we need additional codenames, guys!” Donut called out, clapping his hands together. “I’ve already come up with mine. You ready for this? _It is going to be ah-wesome!”_

In unison, Grif and Simmons simply _stared_ at their youngest partner and waited expectantly.

Donut smiled and waved his hands emphatically. “Double Oh-Donut.”

Simmons scowled. “What? Like _Doonut_?”

“How the fuck is it a codename if you use your _real_ dumbass name in it?” Grif demanded. “What’s the point? Should we call me Griff with Two F’s? Or Simmons the Lanky Dorky One? How about we call Sarge _Commander the War is Over Shut Up Already?”_

“I have a condition, Grif, you know that!” Simmons snapped.

“Oh, whatever,” Grif huffed. 

Donut tapped on his chin. “Now we just need one for Lopez.”

“This is dumb. Everything about this is dumb,” Grif growled. “We should never do a job that requires prior stakeouts.”


	17. Romantic Gestures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash should really reconsider asking Church for favors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

Wash was glad that, for whatever bad instincts had led him to that exact point, they had at least been decent enough to get him a coffee before setting down at the park bench. It gave him something to hold between his hands, to look at, and generally have _some_ sort of response beyond Church’s dead even glare across the table.

Somewhere, not too far off in the distance, Caboose was chasing after Junior with great enthusiasm.

Taking a sip from his coffee, Wash wondered just how long Church’s synthetic body could go without blinking when finally he leaned forward and hissed, “You want me to _what?”_

“It’s really just a yes or no question, Church,” Wash sighed in exasperation. “Tucker has the weekend off, we were already talking about seeing a movie maybe and this –”

“You are sick and perverse. Like. How _dare_ you, really,” Church snapped, leaning back and crossing his arms.

A little caught off guard, Wash lowered his coffee back to the table and stared at Church in confusion. “Just what about asking you to watch Junior overnight is sick and perverse? You and Caboose babysit all the time!”

“Not overnight! You sicko!” Church snapped.

Washington was somewhat proud of himself in the back of his mind for not immediately caving to instinct and testing to see if Church’s circuits could be shorted with a splash of coffee. Instead he rested back and scowled. 

“I feel like we’re having two completely different conversations,” Wash sighed. “If you don’t want to watch him, I’ll just… call someone else. I’m only asking because Kai’s working.” He wouldn’t voice that he still had apprehension about letting any of the Reds babysit. Tucker still made fun of his concerns about nefarious influences and all that.

“Oh, we’re having the same conversation, slime bucket,” Church seethed.

“Again with the unnecessary insults,” Was murmured before raising his coffee to his lips again.

“I hear loud and clear you want me and Caboose on kid duty _overnight_. Which is code for you wanting to fuck my best friend!”

The sputtering Wash made into his own coffee was almost cartoonish – it splashed back all over him and on the table. He looked over himself slightly in disgust, reaching for the napkins before glaring at Church who had impressively not moved an inch.

“Would you keep your voice down? He’s just a kid!” Wash snapped, glancing over to where Junior was now chasing Caboose in retaliation.

“Who? Caboose? He’s heard worse,” Church waved off.

“ _Junior,”_ Wash snapped as he wiped coffee off his pants. “Oh, just _great.”_ He glared back at Church. “You understand how dating works, I assume? You really shouldn’t be so surprised by us making dinner plans.”

“No, you said specifically you wanted to _surprise_ Tucker, which is why _we’re_ having this conversation instead of Tucker and me,” Church snapped. “With as much bullshit as Tucker tries, I can usually pretend that it’s just another night where you are completely oblivious to whatever Tucker’s doing and can ignore the idea that you two are actually sleeping together. If _you’re_ the one trying, then I’m going to spend my entire Friday night convulsing at the thought.”

“Well then you should seek help about that because that’s rather disturbing,” Wash said without hesitation. “Really, it’s none of your business.”

Church scowled more and more. “What? Are you going to line the bed with rose petals or something disgusting? Try to woo the horniest asshole in the city for no reason other than to practice romantic gestures?”

“Church, how about _it’s really not your concern what my exact plans are,”_ Wash responded. “It’s not about you. In fact, very few of my life decisions revolve around you. I understand that’s hard for you to comprehend.”

Leaning back, Church tapped his fingers on the table. “So  you _are_ trying to make it overly romantic.”

Wash looked down to his empty cup. “I have no idea how to do this. But I’m making an effort.”

“And I’m disgusted all over again.”


	18. Boo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chex. Church and Tex both do and don't have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For SaintAsh!

He probably should have reconsidered doing something dumb _while_ Tex was working on her equipment. 

Usually when she stayed around the apartment, it was Tex just being Tex. She joked around with the guys, watched TV, used one of Church’s credit cards to order a pizza she’d refuse to share. She laughed and knocked them all flat when they annoyed her. 

It was just Tex being one of them. 

But every now and then, usually when it was super late or super early, when Tex had just finished doing her superhero thing away from them all, she had a bit of time where she was quiet. She worked on her suit or tools. She’d make casebooks on her laptop then have Church wordlessly wipe it all permanently. She’d lay on the sunroof an stare at the sky like it was going away. 

Those were times when Tex had a routine to herself, was in a _mood_ , and any one of them would _loathe_ to be the person to try to bring her out of it before she was ready. 

Church usually could understand that a thousand times better than Caboose or Tucker could. He almost never was the one to pester her.

But they weren’t in the apartment then. Church was. And Tex had been fixing the same gauntlets for the past three hours. Taking them apart, rewiring them, putting them back together, setting them down, picking them back up. 

Whatever it was, she didn’t seem satisfied. Didn’t seem to get it _right._

Looking at her pick them up for what felt like the hundredth time, Church finally stepped over behind her. 

Maybe he had more of a death wish than he usually did. Maybe he was just a glutton for Tex’s special kind of attention. 

Whatever it was that possessed him, he stood behind her, waited for acknowledgement that he didn’t get, then slipped his hands around her head and over her eyes. 

“Boo,” he said, fully expecting an elbow to the groin for his troubles.

Instead, Tex lowered her head until her brow was resting against his hands and lowered the gauntlets and tools back to the table. Her brow felt warm and sweaty. Church immediately wondered if she was feverish. And infectious. 

“Church,” Tex sighed. 

“Not in the mood?” he tried to help. 

Tex didn’t answer, and Church didn’t move. They just breathed together for a moment, quiet. 

It lapsed as Tex shifted, leaned back until her head was resting against Church’s stomach. 

She never talked about being a hero to him. To any of them. It was both a huge part of everything they did together, and yet something Tex kept them all completely separate from. Like a job or extended family. Church wasn’t even sure who her enemies were, besides formerly himself. 

Then again, Church supposed he never _asked._

 _“_ Did… did you have a tough night?” he tried awkwardly.

“You can’t save them all,” Tex said in a voice completely devoid of emotion. Church wished desperately to see her face at his angle to no success.

“But you… still try every night. I guess… I guess that counts for something,” Church responded, grasping desperately to be relevant in a conversation he couldn’t understand.

“I guess,” Tex said back. “I guess.”


	19. No Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker has a late night with Junior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

Caboose used to wake up and stomp around the house at six in the morning. He had been on the same schedule for years and living with losers like Church and Tucker hadn’t really phased it. Usually Tucker would just lay in bed when it happened, curse into his pillow a few times, and drift back off even before Caboose was heading out the door. 

At five forty-five in the morning, Tucker found himself staring at the alarm and wondering how he got to the point in his life where, a few blocks away, Caboose was probably sleeping for another fifteen minutes while Tucker was just _praying_ to get to sleep for the first time that night.

Standing up, Tucker sighed, stretched a bit, and padded his way in the dark over to the makeshift cradle and peered in at his son.

Junior seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He was curled up in blankets, his turquoise PJ’s tussled to and fro from the previous hours of crying and crawling and batting at Tucker’s tired face the entire time he was refusing the _terrible_ soy milk stuff Doc kept buying for them as a gift. 

“Wow, where was _this_ four hours ago?” Tucker mumbled, leaning against his head as he sighed. 

His eyes drifted to the half torn apart mobile Caboose put together. He reached up and tapped it, making it noiselessly spin a few times before he felt his own eyes drooping. 

Tucker looked back down to Junior and saw not so much as a stir. 

Reaching back behind him, Tucker grabbed the chair he had dragged in a few nights before from the kitchen and pulled up closer to the cradle before settling down himself. 

“Hey, buddy, looks like now _Daddy’s_ the one who can’t get to sleep. Sweet fucking irony, right?” he whispered. “Eh, it’s alright. Not your fault. You’re just a late night action man. All Tuckers are.”

Leaning back against the chair, listening to the creaking, Tucker sighed. His foot tapped expectantly but his body never gave him the go ahead to walk back to bed. He just needed to watch his son a little longer – make sure Junior wasn’t going to wake up and need him again. 

“I just _know_ the second I turn around you’ll need me, li’l guy,” Tucker yawned. “Joke’s on you. I’m going to stay right here until then. I’m ready for you… so ready. Yup.”

He waited a moment before looking back and checking the clock. Caboose _still_ wouldn’t have been up yet.

“Man,” he sighed before looking back. He crossed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable. 

After a while longer still, Tucker caught himself yawning again. He smirked. “Hey, Junior,” he called out softly, softly enough that Junior didn’t so much as snore in response. “Did I tell you about the time Church brought Caboose home? Well…”

He didn’t quite remember where he left off when he woke up at noon to his face against the cradle’s rails and his son patting at his nose. 


	20. Not Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church, Caboose, and Tucker had a bit of a mishap during the Invasion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!
> 
> The exactness of this scene may change when I get around to writing the prequel to Hero Time, but I just loved this idea so much I had to write it out!

“You shot me!”

Caboose blinked and looked to the alien technology in his hands before looking back to Church. It took a few more blinks for his eyes to adjust to the strange blue, pulsing light that outlined his friend now, and a second more to remember that he was seeing _through_ Church.

“I think it was the gun that shot you, Church,” Caboose responded.

“You mean _the motherfucking thing you’re still holding after you shot me!”_ he cried out, his voice cracking in increments.

“Oh, yes. That would be correct,” Caboose responded, finally lowering the weapon. “But you told me to protect Tucker, Church. So even if I don’t want to, I’ll shoot people again to protect him.”

“ _I didn’t mean protect him from me!”_ Church screamed.

“Oh, I know. But the gun shot you anyway. It was _really_ sad,” Caboose responded with a wave of his hand. As if it somehow all made sense to him.

“I’m haunting your ass now until the end of eternity,” Church announced angrily before his ghostly visage turned to face where Tucker was still crumpled on the floor. “And stop groaning! That alien poked you with shit. _We know already!_ You don’t have to keep groaning.”

“I’m not groaning, I’m dying,” Tucker croaked from the floor. 

“You can’t die, Tucker. _I_ died already. We’ve filled the quote for people we need to die on this stupid trip,” Church snapped. “Now get over yourself and get back to mourning my passing.”

“Dude, that’s _really_ hard when you’re still around bitching at us,” Tucker snapped. “Also when you feel like something is burning your guts inside out. That _also_ sucks a lot and is really distracting from mourning.”

“Then stop it!” Church snapped. “Actually. Don’t mourn me yet. I’m obviously still here for a reason.”

“So you’re _not_ dead?” Caboose asked, scratching at his head. “Oh, that’s good. The gun was feeling _really_ guilty about that.”

“No, Caboose. I’m not dead until my job’s done or whatever the fuck. I know how these stories go,” Church responded, hands on his translucent hips. “Obviously the three of us have to find Tex and help her save the city or whatever. Then I can go to rest and you three can talk about how amazing I am and how much you miss me.”

“I would give _anything_ to be get the opportunity to miss you right now,” Tucker grunted before curling more into himself. “Oh my god. I can’t move. I can’t move. _What the fuck did they do to me?”_

 _“_ Indigestion?” Caboose offered.

“Tucker, aren’t you listening to me? It doesn’t matter. You’re _fine_ , I’m the one that died,” Church growled. “C’mon, everyone get this party moving–”

When Tucker collapsed, Caboose immediately looked to his gun suspiciously. IT didn’t _look_ like it had fired…

“Tucker?” Church called out, voice immediately shaky. “Tucker!? Caboose! Go check on him!”

“Right!” Caboose shouted, throwing the gun dangerously aside before rushing over to Tucker’s side. 

Church stood overhead, pale eyes wide. “What is _happening_ here!?”


	21. Cat's Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to defend your pet's integrity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh

Washington learned just a few months into knowing Tucker that Tucker could make fun of Wash all he wanted for sleeping to noon or later after a patrol night, but if Wash were to ever so much as _think_ about poking fun at the 2 PM roll out of bed Tucker did on his days off he would regret it. 

It was just how things were, and at the very least since the week before, Wash didn’t spend his “mornings” without some company thanks to Junior and their new family member. 

“Hm,” Wash hummed as he nudged the food bowl with his foot and watched how Supercat only increased his rubbing around Wash’s legs. Putting his coffee cup down, Wash looked over to the table where Junior was stacking action figures. “Junior, did you feed the cat this morning?” 

Junior honked lowly and got to his feet.

“Well, if you already did, we probably shouldn’t feed him again. He’s just testing to see how much food we’ll give him,” Wash explained, watching as Junior all but ignored the advice and was already pulling out the cat food. “Or not. It’s not like I would know what I’m talking about.”

“We don’t have to worry about feeding the cat. We’re not feeding it anymore,” Tucker announced from the bedroom door. He was still in his underwear and his hair was sticking up at odd ends. 

Wash frowned at him. “You seem a little off kilter today.”

“Shut up, Wash, I’m not in the mood,” Tucker said, sounding like his tongue was too big for his mouth.

Blinking, Wash moved over toward Tucker. “What’s wrong with you? You sound like you’re eating cotton balls.”

Rubbing at his red eyes, Tucker huffed out, “I-I think I’m allergic to cats! And the stupid cat–”

Junior stood up, spilling some of the cat food out over the tile. “BLARGH!”

“I _told_ you I’m not calling your cat ‘Supercat,’ Junior. No,” Tucker said before looking angrily at Wash. “It slept on my chest _all night_.”

Wash shook his head. “You sleep on your stomach. Don’t even. You’re exaggerating. Besides If you were allergic to cats we would have known by now.”

“What’s wrong with me then?” Tucker snapped before grabbing behind Wash for a tissue. 

“Any number of ailments that have similar symptoms,” Wash began listing off. “Common viruses, seasonal allergies, draining sinuses, changing the diner’s grease from vegetable oil to peanut–”

“This is your fault,” Tucker said firmly. “I just _know_ it.”

Wash hummed, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I don’t think you can prove that.”

“Pretty sure I can!” Tucker said before looking down just as Junior was lifting Supercat up toward him. Tucker jumped backward, almost tripping over himself. “You know what? I’m going back to bed – you two are going to be _so_ sorry when I prove that it’s the stupid cat!”

Junior and Wash looked to each other then back to Tucker as he headed back to bed. 

“So are you going to _write_ your apology to Supercat when you get over your head cold in a few days?” Wash called out playfully before the door shut. He looked back to Junior. “We might have to keep him in your room for a little while.”

Junior cooed in agreement. 


	22. Light Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church and Tucker are checking out one of Church's less impressive inventions and may inadvertently cause a problem...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

In a lot of ways, even Tex wasn’t able to break some of Church’s less savory tactics. If she ever did consider his reform a small victory against the high stakes world of crime, well, Church probably would have mocked her for not knowing better. 

Bad habits, after all, were hard to break. 

And there probably wasn’t a habit worse than overwriting traffic signals to give himself the quickest ride from his crappy joint apartment with Caboose all the way to his favorite junkyard in the city to get parts. 

“So let me get this straight,” Tucker said, looking up to the traffic light that changed with the press of a spacebar from green to red. “Every light in Blood Gulch is on a computer timer.”

“It’s really not that uncommon, Tucker,” Church said with a shrug.

“And rather than wait the ten seconds it takes at a red light in the _slim possibility_ that you got caught by one on a five mile drive,” Tucker continued, “You’ve rigged a program that would give your route all green lights whenever you activate it.”

Church looked at Tucker, pressed the spacebar on his laptop again. “Yeah, fuck the system. I’m not waiting at lights if I don’t have to.”

Tucker stared at him for a moment before shrugging and looking off. “Hey, that sounds perfect to me. Also I don’t give a fuck about the horrific traffic in this neighborhood so long as I still don’t have my own sweet ass ride. _Ugh._ I need a car _so bad._ Then I could accurately get pissed off at this whole thing.”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Church snorted, leading them as they walked to the next intersection and Church tested the program again. He glared up at the light as it changed on command.

“So how far do you think you could get that signal to reach?” Tucker asked curiously, crossing his arms as he looked for the signal to change.

“Pretty far, but the farther my radius, the more likely I’m going to lose control of some of the crappier lights,” Church said, pressing the button only for the light to stay red regardless. He pressed again, nothing. “Like _this_ fucker. It always gives me shit.”

“If you were a _real_ super genius, you’d be able to make the signal go farther _and_ keep it from not working,” Tucker snorted as he looked to the guy stuck at the Red light.

The old man looked up and down the other road, and of course saw no traffic. He did a double take and looked at the stuck red light before honking.

Church looked away, completely disinterested in the old man. “What? Is that a _challenge?”_ he demanded.

“If you’re as good as you pretend to be, Church, it wouldn’t _be_ a challenge,” Tucker responded, watching as the old man began literally punching the horn on his steering wheel. “Shouldn’t you try to change the light?”

“Been trying,” Church responded with a dismissive shrug. “Also: challenge accepted.”

“CHANGE THE LIGHT, GODDAMMIT!!!” the old man screamed out of his window at the lights, completely oblivious to Church and Tucker’s role in any of this.

“Huh,” Church said, looking back up at the light and pressing the spacebar to get nothing. “This one’s just busted. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the light breaking has _nothing_ to do with your computer programs trying to overwrite it,” Tucker responded.

They turned and started to leave even as the old man began beating more intensely on his dashboard. 

“Yeesh, someone needs anger management,” Church observed.

“He’s an old dude, Church, what’s the worst he could do about a busted light?” Tucker shrugged.


	23. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grif household isn't always the most honest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from solipsisticwanderer

“Ugh. I hate weekends. Why do I _ever_ have to work weekends? Shouldn’t it be illegal for teenagers to work weekends? That’s for gross old people who don’t have lives anymore.”

Grif didn’t really move from the couch as his sister’s shoes flew across the apartment and smacked into the doorframe to her room. They were fancy boots, but scuffed and the heels had been glued back together a few times. 

Kaikaina kicked open the fridge with stunning ease, grabbed a beer, and plopped herself on the floor by the couch.

With a grunt, Grif sat up, grabbed the beer from her as she popped it open, and took a drink for himself. 

“HEY!” she cried out. 

With all her might, she jumped at him, trying to grab the beer back, but Grif just kept a constant smirk as he easily pushed her back to the couch. “You’re too young, asshole,” he reminded her. “I don’t know who you think you are sometimes, Kai. Christ.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” she snapped, flopping onto the couch and sprawling out behind him. 

Grif sipped on his beer and laid back cautiously, taking pride at how his sister squealed and struggled against him. 

“Don’t you care at all that I give up my weekends to put money in our stupid bank?” she demanded, puffing out her lower lip. She was definitely going for the pity route for this round. “The least you could do is give me a beer. Treat me like a woman.”

“No, because you’re a _kid_ , my _kid sister,_ and I’ve already told you no,” he told her before leaning forward, reaching under the couch for the box he had hidden. “Besides. I already have a thank you gift for you.”

Interest piqued, Kaikaina sat up and leaned over Grif’s shoulder. “What’s with the gray box?” she asked.

“It’s actually yellow,” he informed her without hesitation as he handed the box to her. “And it’s for you.”

“Oh my god, Dex! You’re the best gimme gimme gimme,” she cried out as she grabbed the box and pulled it into her lap, tearing it open. Her scream was deafening as she pulled the boots out. “These are those boots I wanted! Oh my _god!!!_ You got them!”

“I got them,” he smirked back.

Kai’s face was _elated_ , but already there was something tugging at the corners. She began to slip the boots on, her eyes wandering up to him from time to time as she did so. “You’ve not been working, though…” she pointed out lowly. 

“I won some money in a poker game,” he lied without hesitation. “What? You want me to take them back?”

“Fuck no,” she said, standing up to check them out.

“I didn’t think so,” Grif said, settling back on the couch. 


	24. Amor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lopez and Sheila meet for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It’s been suggested a few times that Lopez and Sheila from Hero Time deserve more attention and I really couldn’t agree more! So I thought I’d put something quick together for the two of them : ) Thanks especially to Churbooseanon for encouraging it!

There were several shifts at the diner that weren’t filled with all that much mirth. Even when the cash register _wasn’t_ deciding to be a particular pain, she had to deal with a very slow trickle of customers, a mismatch of meal times outside of the normal meal hours, and -- since they really couldn’t afford people on shift when there wasn’t anything to do -- a lack of people in the back to talk to. 

But Sheila for the most part could enjoy the slow hours. 

She had her crosswords, a working computer, and every now and then she’d get an itch to catch up on some daytime television, waiting for someone to come in for the next shift like Kaikaina or Tucker. 

Mostly, though, it was just unusual customers.

He didn’t seem all that special when he came in. There was a bit of a limp, but being in her own wheelchair Sheila hardly took notice of it. And he had a high school jacket on that she didn’t recognize as one of the inner city schools, but again it was hardly worth taking her attention for long. Just enough to look over her glasses as the bell rang, a quick look over, and a nod to the booths near him. 

“Go ahead and take a seat, honey,” she ordered as she tucked the pen in her crossword book and began to push it across the counter away from her. “I’ll be right with you.”

He nodded, one of his hands rubbing roughly at his unshaven face, and he looked around before promptly sliding into the first booth seat without a tear, which wasn’t the first two booths at all.

Sheila grabbed her order book and a pen that wasn’t dedicated to her crosswords before wheeling herself to the man’s table and taking a good look over him. He seemed tired, and under the jacket she could see overalls covered in oil and dirt. Mechanic came to mind, as did the fact that her own van could have used a tune up.

The man was looking awkwardly at the menu before looking a little worriedly back to Sheila. 

“Everything alright?” she asked. “Can I get you something to drink while you look or...?”

The more she talked the more the man laughed to himself and rubbed at his face. He finally looked back at her somewhat sadly. “No hablo Inglés también. Lo siento. Voy a dejar--” he said, beginning to rise from the table.

Sheila’s eyes widened slightly and she raised up her hands. “Whoa, whoa now. There’s no need to run off,” she said with a laugh, drawing his attention back to her. “How about we just take the menu out of the equation, huh? It’s not _quite_ lunch yet, so I think you’d like some toast, eggs, and sausage. And... how about a coffee? What do you think?”

He looked at her in confusion, his dirt smeared cheeks beginning to grow red as he looked away. “No creo que usted me entiende . Así que no estoy avergonzado de decir que estoy muy nerviosa alrededor de tales mujeres hermosas.” He paused before coughing into his hand and laughing. “Además no tengo el dinero para una gran comida de este tipo.”

Sheila smirked and put down her pen and pad. “Well, Señor, I don’t get _that_ much time to practice my Spanish, but I do know that if you’re up for it, I’d much rather you pay me back by looking at my car. If you have the time.”

Growing stiff, the man looked at her in horror, realizing what she understood. 

Smiling all the same, Sheila raised a brow. “You _are_ a mechanic, aren’t you?”

“Si,” he answered, strained.

“Gracias,” Sheila responded, laughing herself. “And for the record, no worries. I’m not that pretty.”

Immediately, the mechanic shook his head. “No no. Señora, usted es magnífico.”

Feeling some blush of her own, Sheila reached her hand nervously forward. “Sheila,” she introduced herself.

He smiled back and took her hand. “Lopez. La pesada.”


	25. Thunderstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker has never not been there for Junior in a thunderstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

Tucker had promised to work Kai’s shift for two weeks. The youngest Grif never planned anything or ever asked for time in advance, but the concert had been something on her calendar for months and had been the only thing she could talk about at work for even longer.

Sheila knew about it, Tucker knew about it – everyone knew she was going to leave early and not hell nor high water was going to keep her from going. 

He just wished with all of his might that it hadn’t been that night.

Sheila had the television over the counter on the weather channel, their regulars were all seated and kept their eyes glued on it even as the building creaked and the wind wailed outside. 

Listening to the weatherman talk about the rapid formation of the late night thunderstorm and what it meant for their regularity that summer was all Tucker could do to keep himself from sticking his hand in the deep fryer so he could be sent home to Junior.

Every few glances, he would catch Sheila’s sympathetic gaze. 

“Who’s watching him tonight?” she asked softly.

“Caboose,” he replied, fist clenching around the deep fry’s handle. 

“He’ll make him feel safe,” Sheila said reassuringly. “Caboose is good people.”

Tucker looked at Sheila, unconvinced himself before scowling back at the cooking food. “He’s… never been in a storm without me before… isn’t that weird?”

“It means you’re a good daddy,” Sheila assured him just before the front door flung open with so much ferocity the bell spun around its hook.

Both looking in bewilderment, Tucker and Sheila gasped at seeing a soaked to the bone Kaikaina, hair filled with glow sticks and cute but completely inappropriate attire clinging to her wet skin.

“Now what are you wearing in my restaurant?” Sheila demanded, pointing a pen angrily at Kai. 

“The concert’s canceled!” she called out, ignoring the eyes of creepy onlookers and she raced from the door to the counter and toward the back. “I can work! I’ll put on an apron and everything!”

Sheila and Tucker glanced to each other then back to Kai. 

“You’re not taking your day off?” Tucker asked. “Are you fucking sick? You can’t contaminate the food if you’re sick. You’ll close us down!”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not sick!” Kai screeched, throwing on her apron in the back. Her bright eyes looked immediately to Tucker once the apron was over her head. “You’re a dad now, Tuck. And Li’l J-man is scared of storms. He can’t go through a storm like this without his daddy. So daddy-the-fuck-up!”

Eyes blown wide, Tucker stared in utter disbelief at his coworker before spinning around to look at Sheila who merely smiled and nodded in response.

“O-okay then,” Tucker said, immediately throwing off his apron and cap, racing toward the back door. “I… I’ll get going – you two are the absolute best. I could take you both home right now and– actually, that’s not a bad–”

“No!” the women yelled in unison. 

“Right,” he grinned back.

Sheila shook her head before nodding to the door. “Be careful out there.”

“Hey, I will be,” Tucker grinned back before bursting out the door and immediately heading for home.


	26. Romance the Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Tucker is surprised by Church's houseguest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh

Living with Church was _shockingly_ predictable. Even after neither of them had quite made it through school, their crappy system kept them roommates from one terrible apartment to the next, and even as Tucker switched from cafeteria janitor to parking attendant to his newest foray as a fry cook, he found that Church pretty much stayed exactly to his schedule.

Wake up at noon, get on the computer, stay on the computer until Tucker got back. Pizza. Some random invention. Scouting for his next villainous plot. Never actually succeed in said villainous plot for unknown reason. Play online games. Go to bed somewhere between four and seven in the morning. 

It was a sad and pathetic life of Leonard L. Church, but Tucker didn’t mind it. 

At least, he didn’t until the morning he woke up, skipped over to their kitchen, and proceeded to drink from the carton of milk before feeling the very prickling sensation that he was being watched. 

Certain that it was Church and he was about to be yelled at – _again_ – for drinking straight from the carton, Tucker turned without much though toward the couch.

He nearly dropped the whole carton in shock when he saw a woman laying with her head propped up staring at him. 

He _did_ actually choke on the milk and send it spewing over himself and the carton, though. 

The woman narrowed her eyes and looked at him like he was some sort of hideous creature. She then raised a brow and brought her gaze back up to Tucker’s face. 

“Um,” Tucker got out. 

“Are you the roommate?” she asked somewhat knowingly.

Roughly rubbing his forearm over his face to get off some of the excess milk, Tucker snorted. He tossed his head to the side, grinning ear to ear. “You must know that because Church finally ordered me a stripper as a late birthday present! _Fuck yes!”_

 _“OR,”_ the woman countered, looking increasingly unamused, “I know that because I was warned you’re an obnoxious prick who thinks just because he goes to bed in his birthday suit that it’s okay to walk around the _rest_ of the apartment in it too.” 

Tucker’s jaw dropped slightly as he looked down and realized that she had been horrifyingly accurate in her assessment. He hadn’t even _thought_ about it.

Decisively taking lemons and making lemonade, he coughed into his hand and looked at her with a wide smile again. 

“That’s okay, baby,” he said smoothly. “I’m just giving you a bit of an appetizer. I’ve got a full meal for you if you’re ready–”

Tucker had never been hit harder in his entire life. But, as he would tell Church much later after waking up on the floor with a blanket haphazardly thrown over his lower half, _totally worth it._


	27. Awkward Roommate Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Church nor Tucker are taking responsibility for the mess in the living room. Tex enjoys the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

They sat in silence with the television off, all of them at least three feet away, more if they could manage it. No one was saying anything, no one was taking credit, and no one was pressuring the others to clean the mess in fear that it would single them out as the culprit. 

At least, Church and Tucker’s dead even glares at each other seemed to say as much. 

Tex just sat there and ate cereal, her gaze confidently shifting between the two roommates as if she was preparing to watch a show. 

Finally, Tucker narrowed his eyes and waved a hand to it. “Are you not even going to say anything about it?”

“Tucker, you’re a fucking _adult_ , man,” Church hissed back. “I shouldn’t have to tell you what to do with it.”

Tex crunched down on her cereal even more. If possible, she seemed to be grinning at the situation. 

“Why would _I_ have to do something with it?” Tucker demanded.

“It’s common fucking courtesy, man! When have I ever done this to _you?”_ Church hissed. 

“Uh, how about _right now?”_ Tucker snapped back, pointing at the condom on the floor. “Because _that_ is not mine!”

“The hell it isn’t!” Church roared. “Tucker, pick. It. Up.”

“I am _not_ touching another dude’s splooge!” Tucker yelled back. “Not even yours.”

Tex snorted into her bowl, barely getting any attention from the two of them. 

“It is _not_ mine!” Church growled. 

“Gee. Who had sex last night while I was at work–”

“You were bragging that you had sex last night before we came in here!” Church screeched. 

“Not _here_ though!”

“We weren’t _in_ here last night!” Church defended as he pointed at the living room floor. He then turned and glared at Tex. “Right?”

She stopped eating long enough to glare at him. “Do _not_ drag me into this.”

“If Tucker’s saying it’s mine, it’s just as much yours,” Church defended.

“Ha, _no._ No it isn’t,” Tex snapped back. 

Tucker looked progressively more squeamish. “Aw man. We can’t just leave it there.”

“Then pick it up,” Church snapped. “I guarantee you I can leave it there longer than you can.”

Looking green in the face, Tucker shook his head and got up, heading toward the kitchen. “We still have plastic gloves in here, right?”

“Maybe!” Church called back over his shoulder. He waited until Tucker was gone then looked suspiciously at Tex. “It’s not mine, Tex.”

“Hm, isn’t it?” she said, taking another bite of cereal.

Church narrowed his eyes at her. “I hate you sometimes.”

“I hate you all the time,” Tex responded without hesitation. 


	28. Clash of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaikaina's first late night shift with Sheila could have gone better...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

It was one of those nights where even two employees seemed to be pushing it. And Sheila was running out of non-chores to fork over on the new girl.

Counting the money again out of boredom, Sheila glanced over the brim of her glasses at Kaikaina. “Did you change out the mop bucket’s water?” she asked.

The girl let out a flustered noise and looked at Sheila – curls falling out of her sloppy bun already. “ _No,”_ she snapped.

Putting her money down, Sheila tilted her head back. “I _know_ you’re not giving me li, chick,” she said warningly.

“Ugh, you’re worse than my brother,” the girl groaned before pushing the mop bucket with her foot across the floor, ignoring how it spilled out across the tile.

Sheila sighed and snapped her fingers at the teen. “Hey, mop that up now. Someone could get hurt on that.”

Groaning, Kai marched into the back. Sheila just shook her head and momentarily returned to the money. She didn’t think twice when she heard footsteps returning. 

Without warning, Kai let out a small shriek as there was the skidding of shoes. 

Sheila’s eyes widened and she turned just in time to see Kai’s hands in the air while she went tumbling backwards. Her fall was only broken as her hands grasped at the tub by the sink full of the freshly cleaned dishes. Which, of course, promptly turned over, shattering everywhere as Kai managed to land on her butt.

“Oh, my god! Honey, are you okay?” Sheila asked, wheeling herself around.

Remaining on the floor, Kai looked around, lip protruding and eyes watering. “Oh, no! Not _another_ job,” she cried. Her big dark eyes turned to Sheila worriedly. “I’m fired, aren’t I?”

Surprised, Sheila bliked at the girl before letting out a small life. “Oh, heavens no!” 

Sniffing, Kai began to get up. “R-really?”

“Honey, if I fired you, who would I make clean this up” Sheila asked with a grin.

Kai groaned. “Ugh! I hate you!”


	29. The Swear Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church is not a fan of the new addition to Tucker's kitchen when he comes to babysit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

The first time Church saw it, innocently sitting on the kitchen counter, he _almost_ threw it out the window for dramatic effect. _Almost._

In the middle of his stride from the kitchen to the living room, Church saw Junior sleeping on a blanket on the floor.

The little abomination was difficult to get to sleep as he was to accept as a reality, and so Church eased back into the kitchen and set the repurposed pickle jar on its spot again. 

He grunted and put his hands on his hips with a mutter of “Tucker is fucking kidding himself if he thinks–”

Church’s gaze around the apartment stopped short when it fell on a very awake Junior staring at him and pointing at the jar. It was enough to make Church do a double take. 

“What are you serious?” he demanded. He then watched as Junior’s eyes narrowed before shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a dollar. “Fine,” he growled and shoved the dollar into the jar. “Fucking happy?”

Junior growled at Church. The babysitter then smacked his own forehead. 

“Damn it,” he said shoving another one into the jar. He pause. He put in another. 

The little devil spawn had never looked more pleased.

Church had never had a longer night. By the time Tucker walked in, the jar was completely full and Church preemptively shoved in a dollar in order to shout, “Hey, Tucker! _Fuck you!_ I’m never babysitting again if this crap keeps up!”

Yawning, Tucker stretched and looked over Church curiously. “What crap?”

Waving to the jar, Church glared at his friend.

Tucker looked at the jar, read its label, and snorted before looking at Church. “Swear jar? That’s so fucking dumb,” he said amusedly.

“Then why’d you fucking–” Church shoved another one in “–put it out!?”

Tucker blinked in surprise. “I didn’t,” he answered. 

Church’s mouth hung open before snapping closed. He waved angrily to the jar. “Who the fuck’s taking my money then!?

At first Tucker merely blinked at the question. Slowly, however, he turned and looked to where the jar rested on the counter.

When Church followed his gaze, he saw for himself as Junior snatched the jar and sprinted for the bedroom, chortling with laughter.

Completely astonished, Church stood with his mouth open while Tucker cackled loudly, throwing his whole body into the laughter.

“Oh my _god!”_ Tucker cried out. “Maybe you _shouldn’t_ babysit anymore, dude! You’re teaching my son how to scam people!”

Furious, Church stood there and stewed as Tucker kept laughing. Deep down, though, Church couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride.


	30. Legalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash isn't particularly happy with the newest order from the mayor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Saintash!

His mouth opened and closed a few times, his body almost protesting speaking up at all, when he finally looked worriedly to the secretary and held up the three ring binder.

“I… all of this?” he clarified.

She popped her bubblegum. “The mayor was _very_ clear–”

“Yes… but… the,” he began flipping through it, eyes widening more and more as the numbers in the corner seemed go increase exponentially. “The _volume_ wasn’t so clear.”

“Mister Washington, you told the mayor you wished to operate now as a free agent–”

He looked at her only to be met with a very bored glare. “Well, yes. But–”

“You also did not want to be responsible for paying for the repairs and damages amassed in the recent struggle you took part in on the block–”

Pulling at his shirt collar, Wash looked back at the binder. “No, but only because it wasn’t _me_ who wrecked it. See, there was this mutant rhino–”

“And since you have publicly spoken out against the former superhero team that covered your insurance claims–”

Washington gave her an incredulous look. “Because they were _evil_ –”

“This is the solution given to you by the mayor,” she reminded him, pointing a pink feathery pen at his binder. “That is your ticket to not being sued by the city for being a loose canon.”

He stared at her before cocking his head to the side. “What if I just… took these home and looked over them before signing? Called a lawyer?”

She glared at him then to the clock then back to Wash. “I have thirty minutes before the office is closed. If that’s not done before I am no longer getting paid, then I get to make the call on whether or not the mayor is told that you signed it or didn’t sign it. If I decide you _haven’t_ signed it, your butt is sued.” She leaned closer. “I don’t want to stay here past five, Mister Washington.”

Wash curled his nose at her before settling back in his seat and grabbing a pen. “I can’t believe this.”

“Welcome to the justice system, Mister Washington.”


	31. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker wants to bond with his son. SuperCat has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

Finding his son in their apartment should _not_ have been such a difficult task. And yet here Tucker was, once more, tempted to start going through the cabinets of the kitchen under the suspicion that Junior was playing an elaborate ruse.

It really shouldn’t have been too much to ask to have some quality time with his kid on the one day he had off from work that week. 

Lately it had felt like _Wash_ had had more time with Tucker’s son than Tucker had, and that simply was not something Tucker could go for. 

No matter how much Tucker liked Wash, he refused to be any lower than Junior’s absolute _favorite_ when it came to parental figures. 

Which carried over into needing some quality time to make up for the fact that Junior and Tucker did not quite see eye to eye on the cat situation.

_Damn that cat._

Getting frustrated, Tucker turned to double back on his search through the living room when he noticed something had distinctly changed about that end of the apartment. 

Speak of the devil – the cat was curled up on a stack of blankets set in the window seat. Curled up, snoozing away.

Tucker stared down his mortal enemy before crossing the way. 

“Alright, get off, you! I don’t want to have to clean those blankets again before laundry day–” he began only to stop short as he realized the blankets were softly moving up and down.

He stared at the sight curiously before continuing the rest of the way into the living room, making the aptly named SuperCat open one dark eye and stare at him throughout his approach.

Stopping short, Tucker felt a certain pattering in his heart as he looked over the blankets and, sure enough, finally found his son. Snoozing in the sunlight breaking through the window. 

Despite himself, Tucker smiled and reached down to gently rub Junior’s scaly head only to be swiped at by fearsome claws of the overprotective pet. 

“Sonofa–!!” Tucker shouted out, breaking the restful silence of the apartment. 


	32. Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [RvB Angst War] Junior loves their new home with Washington, but he finds not everything comes without scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @thevergastrolls ) for the angst war, tucker and junior, hero time?
> 
> A/N: So no joke I’ve been shocked at the involvement of Hero Time in the angst war because, to me, Hero Time’s all about the happy fun times. So bringing it to the real world and, even more bringing it into the world of angst is shocking. And hilarious. And also angsty. I kind of love it. And that’s also the beauty of building in a superhero genre: there’s so many excuses with alternate earths and darkest timelines. Everything is hilarious. And awful. All at once!

Junior had his own room, which was something of a new experience all around. 

Sometimes, in their old home, if his dad was working very late and Junior hadn’t stayed up for him, he would wake up in the mornings and find his dad snoring in the living room on the sofa. On those nights it was _kind_ of like Junior had his own room, but not really.

In Washington’s apartment it was _really_ his own room.

They were still filling the room with stuff. It seemed like Washington was always finding old posters and action figures and comics in boxes that he would let Junior sort and keep what he wanted (almost all of them), and Junior’s dad liked to buy small things for Junior on pay days. So even if it was a little bare still, Junior really _did_ have his own room with _his_ stuff.

And if he needed his dad or Washington, the other room was right next door. 

It was the perfect home, Junior found himself thinking more than once. 

Junior usually went to bed around the time Washington left at night to be a superhero, and he woke up about the time his dad was getting ready to go to work. And at least twice a week there were days when they were all home for the entire day. And those were fun. 

Really, Junior had never slept better, even in his own room by himself. At least, until the night he heard a heavy _THUNK_ against the wall he shared with the other bedroom.

Blearily, he woke up, rubbed at his face and pulled at his dad’s old T-shirt he had been sleeping in. Smacking his mandibles together, Junior tried to look around the room for what had caused the noise.

Sometimes he would wake up and hear Washington returning at night. Not often, but every now and then. Especially if it ended up being a morning where he saw Washington bandaged up at breakfast. 

It made the soon-to-be five-year-old a little concerned that Washington was hurt again when another _THUNK_ hit the wall and he didn’t hear Washington, but rather Junior heard his dad.

There was a long, wheezing sound followed by a third _THUNK_ that was powerful enough to shake the mirror hanging on Junior’s wall, and then a voice that faintly sounded like his dad coughed weakly, “ _W-wash!”_

Immediately alarmed, scales tensing down his neck, Junior threw off his blankets and took toward his door. 

A series of high pitched clicks came from his jaws as junior gnashed his teeth together and tore open first his bedroom door then tried to do the same with the next door – it was locked. 

Not thinking clearly when a string of gargles filled the apartment, Junior tore the knob right off the door and shoved it wide open.

His mind was filled with possibilities of what he was about to save his father from – fantastical beasts, technicolored villains, a houndish ghoul – Junior was ready for all of them.

But he wasn’t ready to see his father on the bed, arching back with his hips in the air as he kicked and thrashed his feet. His dad was clawing at his chest, attempting to reach for his neck but never quite reaching due to _some_ force that Junior could not see. 

And worst of all, even with only the streetlight peering in through the window, Junior could plainly see that his father’s cheeks and lips had grown purple as he gasped for air.

 _THUNK_ the headboard clashed against the wall again as his father kicked back against the mattress.

Terrified, Junior ran to his father’s side and looked around. 

He couldn’t see _anything_ around his father that would cause such a thing to happen. 

It was like a nightmare.

Crawling onto the bed, Junior cooed for his father, but the elder Tucker merely shook his head and choked again. His body was quivering and covered in sweat. 

Honking louder, Junior reached for his father’s shoulder only to stop abruptly when he heard a yell from the window.

“ _Don’t!”_

Upset, Junior looked wildly toward the window just in time to see Washington crawling through. 

The superhero was sweaty and covered in grime around his cheeks, still in costume as he quickly slipped the rest of the way into the apartment and came right to the other side of the bed. 

“He’d never forgive himself if he knocked you off the bed or something,” Washington further explained to Junior as he sat on the bed and expertly grabbed those clawing hands. “Tucker, _Tucker._ I made it. Just breathe. Take a breath with me.”

For the first time since Junior entered the room, his father dropped his jaw and gasped fully, His chest heaved as his lungs filled with air and then he began coughing, curling upward with Wash’s help to sit up straight.

He hacked and coughed weakly, body trembling. 

Washington held onto Junior’s father’s wrists for a few moments longer before slowly letting them drop to the man’s lap. “I’ll call in work for you,” Wash said, no questions asked. 

Junior watched his dad nod and shakily drop his forehead to rest against his knees. 

Jaws quivering, he looked worriedly to Washington just in time to see the superhero beginning to remove his mask and gauntlets, walking toward the kitchen. All routine, same as normal. 

Except Wash paused and looked back to Junior, face lighting up with realization, as if he’d forgotten Junior had been in the room. His eyes then shifted between Junior and his dad. 

Swallowing, Wash waved for Junior to follow him. “Let’s… how about some four a.m. breakfast?” he asked. “My specialty: cereal.”

Junior nodded but held up a finger before curling up on the bed into his father’s side. 

Washington watched as Junior’s dad shakily rested an arm around Junior and held him close, before going to the kitchen.

Suddenly, Junior wasn’t so keen on the days his father got to spend at home.


	33. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker is a little too optimistic after the first ever signs of human-alien relations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @ashleystlawrence ) Okay so i finally thought of a good hero time angst prompt for you.. I always wanted a little more depth on this Line “Maybe I could get out more with him if everyone felt that way.”
> 
> A/N: Ahhhhh yes. Angst in Hero Time. It returns with a vengeance!! And I am all the happier for it. Man, I’ll have to dish out some real fluffy Hero Time prompts to make up for it to you guys. Maybe. I kinda like the heart ripping action as is.

Maybe it made _him_ the dumb one but Tucker saw the first ever Grifball tournament on a crowded television in Grif’s apartment when Junior was three years old and he honestly felt _relieved._

Kai was rolling on the floor with Junior, neither one really comprehending what was going on on the screen and Tucker stood up. 

His eyes scanned the crowded stands in the TV’s arena and he saw humans gleefully cheering on the alien combatants. 

“Dude,” Grif growled as he waved his beer, “I can’t see! Move your ass.”

“I think you should enjoy the view, Big Bro!” Kai snickered as she rolled onto her back and raised Junior up into the air. “WEEEEE!”

Simmons looked uncomfortably to Grif. “Please don’t enjoy the view…”

Tucker turned and looked at his friends with a wild grin. “They’re cheering!” he shouted.

“They’re watching the game, too,” Grif snapped. “ _We_ could be cheering if we knew what was going on.”

Tucker ducked down to Grif and Simmons’ contentment. He grabbed Junior right from Kai’s loudly protesting hands and stood back up just to shove Junior’s tiny face toward the television.

“HEY!” a string of protests rang from the apartment, but Tucker ignored them all.

“See that, Li’l Man?” Tucker asked. “They’re cheering for you!” 

Confused, Junior audibly clicked his mandibles together and just stared at the screen.

But Tucker didn’t care. What really mattered was that the cheering was for _them._

He thought.

* * *

It was a nice day at the park, midday fall. Everything was offset by a gentle breeze and turning leaves. 

Tucker couldn’t remember the last time he was at the park during the day.

And judging by the way Church stiffly drudged his way up to him, it’d been a while for him, too.

“Hey,” the ghostly robot grunted with a nod as he approached the table and bench Tucker was sprawled out on.

“ _Yo,”_ Tucker grinned as he sat up and made some room for his friend. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Church stopped short and stared intently at Tucker for a moment. He was looking at Tucker as if he was expecting another head to grow on his shoulders.

“What’s up with you?” Tucker asked.

“Up with me?” Church repeated. “Uh, what’s wrong with _you?_ I’m here because you texted me ‘at park.’”

Tucker blinked then gave a look around the area before laying his eyes back on Church. “Well… I _am_ at the park,” Tucker replied. 

Frustrated, Church threw up his hands. “I thought you were in trouble!”

“Why!?” 

Exasperated, Church shook his head. “Tucker, that message isn’t _normal!_ No one else sends messages like that without purpose.”

“I have a purpose being here,” Tucker defended.

Church squinted. “Is it drugs?”

“Pfft, _no,”_ Tucker said before nodding toward the playground.

The other man made a point of not breaking eye contact for a moment then finally shifted attention to the playground equipment. If possible, Church’s eyes bulged as he stared at the sight of Junior climbing the stairs of the slide. 

Head flicking back and forth between Tucker and Junior, Church pulled a full body jerk to give more direct attention to Tucker. 

“You brought the abomination of nature here!? What the fuck– _WHY!?_ Why would you do that!?” Church near screamed.

On the defense immediately, Tucker sat up straight and glared at Church. “Hey! That’s my _son,_ asshole! And I brought him to the park because there are things to do and places to play. Duh. He’s a kid, he deserves it.”

Looking at Tucker in disbelief, Church shook his head. Slowly, he finally took that seat beside Tucker. 

“Tucker, goddamn dude, _he’s not a normal kid._ Especially not to anyone else!” Church cried out. 

Tucker watched with utter focus as his son slid down the slide and waved emphatically from the bottom at them. It was almost automatic for him to smile and wave back. “How can you look at him and say he’s not just like every other kid you’ve ever seen?”

“That’s not the first thing people see when they look at him, and you _know_ it,” Church snapped. “Even if it’s true.”

“It _is_  true,” Tucker snapped almost petulantly. 

With a heavy sigh, Church pinched the bridge of his nose and then looked out to the rest of the park. Even with only one wide sweep, he saw enough of what he needed and began waving his hands toward the rest of the park visitors. 

“Do you know what I see? Because I’m a freaking adult?” he demanded.

“No,” Tucker huffed.

“Look around, Tucker,” Church said in that commanding tone that made Tucker feel the need to oblige. And when he did he saw small groups, collections of people in twos and threes, standing off by a few yards, whispering, huddled as they looked with varying degrees of paleness and horror. “I see trouble. I see people nervous and scared and too stupid to stop being any combination of those things. Because that’s what people _do._ That’s how people _act._ And three years ago really isn’t long enough to forget the big dents in streets and the collapsed buildings all from an alien invasion that probably killed people they knew.”

Tucker scowled. He saw his son. He saw his son playing.

And he saw that all other children in the park were drug away from the equipment or held onto for dear life yards away from where his obvious son played.

“If you’re not scared because of what people _do_ when they see things that scare them,” Church continued darkly, “then maybe you should try being a little more scared of what it’s going to do to your kid when he looks up one day and realizes that all those scared faces are staring his way.”

Junior jumped down from the monkey bars – three-years-old and playing on _monkey bars,_ so amazing, so… unusual – and he waved at Tucker.

And with the pit of his stomach feeling like it was churning, Tucker waved back.

“I… he’s so happy,” Tucker muttered back.

Catching on, Church nodded. “Okay,” he said. “A few more minutes.”

They waited together, and left before the crowds had doubled.


	34. A Murder Most Fowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash is not really impressed with his death trap of the day. Not that it makes death any less likely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @goodluckdetective ) Hero Time: Tucker has to save Wash from a supervillian. Wash is almost positive he’s done for when Tucker breaks down the door.
> 
> A/N: I am so happy Hero Time is a thing that exists. And that I have an excuse to write dumb stuff like this and be proud of it.

Junior has been making this joke for the past two or three years that Wash refuses to support, the one about how once his gray hairs outnumber his blonde hairs, he has to officially retire.

Wash literally cannot imagine what gives a teenager the right to say such things. 

And yet here he is, upside down over a shark tank thinking _hey, it could be a giant blender._

The moment someone actually pulls out a giant blender on him, Wash will get worried because that could, in fact, be a perfect bookend to what has been a truly strange and endearing adventure in Blood Gulch. 

“Do you have any last words?” the villain hackles.

Wash squints at them slightly and realizes he might be killed by someone he can’t remember the name or theme of. Which is _truly_ unfortunate. He’d like to at least be killed by someone with a decent name. 

 _Ostrich Feathers?_ No. _Bird of Terror?_ No… 

His eyes widen slightly. “I’m a cat getting killed by a bird,” he realizes and if _that’s_ not the absolute worse–

The crank moves once and Wash’s entire body is jerked as he’s lowered a foot all of the sudden and the sharks move dangerously closer to his head. Which is… probably for once a good thing that villains treat their caged animals so inhumanely. If this had been a properly sized tank for sharks of this size, they would have been able to get enough momentum and jump to bite him off the chain at this point – animal abuse loses yet again.

Another thought hits him, and it’s _not_ the one that would uncover what the name of his mysterious villain is. He looks toward the brightly clad man and scowls. 

“Why do you have an aviary theme and are using an aquatic death trap?” Wash demands.

“Why does it matter?”

“I would prefer my career ending case to have some semblance of understanding and planning behind it,” he says back. “You know… other than what I’m assuming is _luck_ that you caught me.”

“It was my plan to hit you with that car, you cocky bastard–”

Wash’s nose curls. “That would do it.”

Things are starting to look a little desperate, Wash realizes. Whatever thought processes aren’t inhibited by what’s probably a concussion are definitely going fuzzy on the edges thanks to the additional blood rush of being upside down for so long. And though he’s always believed in storing tools in more than the utility belt that’s been stripped from him, the straight jacket is keeping him from really reaching anything–

“Straight jacket doesn’t make sense with this theme either,” Wash announces. “None of this has any cohesion. That’s the reason I can’t remember your name.”

The villain looks positively reviled. “You don’t know who I am!?”

Wash squints again. His visor’s fine, just like he kept telling Tex it was, but… he might need to start wearing contacts. _Fuck_ it sucks getting old.

“I don’t think you introduced yourself,” Was says back at last. “You just… hit me with your car. Which doesn’t do much to set you apart from others, I’ll be completely honest. Few of my _allies_ haven’t done that before. So…”

“This is the third time we’ve crossed paths at the intersection of justice and calamity!”

That only serves to depress the aging hero a little more. “Damn. You’re _really_ forgettable then,” he sighs and looks back up to the chain suspending him. “This is the least climactic way to die. Ever. Of all time.”

The villain’s mouth coils in disgust beneath his beaked mask. “I’m starting to think that along with being a goody-two-shoes superhero, you’re also a bit of an ass.”

“And with that attitude you probably _also_ know my boyfriend,” Wash sighs. He then twists back around to face the villain. “Parrot Avenger!”

“He died ten years ago.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Wash groans and relaxes in the suspension again. “Sorry, this doesn’t usually happen to me. I’m usually on top of this stuff. I just… I _really_ don’t care for bird themed villains. I’ll be completely honest.”

“You said that last time!” the villain howls and waves toward the tank. “That’s the reason I spent all my resources on this elaborate set up.”

“I would have put it into changing my costume,” Wash mumbles. His body jerks again as he’s lowered to just a few feet above the water. His stomach churns, knowing he’s incredibly reachable at this point. The strong smell of saltwater enters his nostrils. 

He flinches, anticipating the jump of the sharks but… nothing.

They continue swimming – not even circling, just swimming.

Both Wash and the criminal stare at the waters. Wash’s head throbs from the blood beating against his skull.

“They’re not very attentive,” Wash observes.

“They were just fine when I fed them that deer last week,” the villain excuses lamely.

“Oh, well… sharks don’t need that much food… I would have probably starved them longer. Like… fifteen days at least,” Wash explains.

“You would?”

“No, because I’m not fucking cruel to animals,” Wash snaps.

There is a stagnant pause between the two of them where Wash thinks that just _maybe_ his smartass attitude that’s been earned through years of living in Blood Gulch is probably not all that useful in his situation. He can almost _expect_ it when his very frustrated villain hits the crank one last time and gives Wash only a split second to take a last breath before he’s plunged into the tank.

The sharks, hungry or not, are not keen on sharing their space. 

Wash hopes that he’s earned enough good will among the presses over the years that it’s not an _incredibly_ embarrassing news story on an otherwise slow day when they post his eulogy.

He manages to twist with enough force that he ducks to the side of one lunging shark just before there is a muffled _THUNK_ through the waters. 

Both Wash and the sharks get highly interested in said _THUNK_ and look toward it just in time to see the crack in the glass that is growing by leaps and bounds by the second. Wash blinks just before there’s a massive rush of water all around him, pulling him chain and all toward it until the suspension holds him taut. 

In a blink the sharks and water are gone and Wash is dangling upside down in the air again, choking and hacking. 

“NOOOOOOO!” the villain screams out just before Tex’s black figure appears before him and knocks his lights out.

Wash is spinning on the chain slightly, blinking dully as he commands himself to not get motion sick from this whole dumb experience. His expression only changes when he sees Tucker’s face pop up right in front of him.

Sputtering in surprise, Wash tilts his head. “Tucker!?” 

“Did you get unmasked again?” he demands

“No,” Wash says. “What’re you doing here–”

“You big idiot,” Tucker says, hands on his hips – he’s actually angry. He doesn’t even blink as Tex begins turning the crank and lowering Wash more to the floor. “You missed dinner. _And_ breakfast. Also you didn’t call–”

“I was tied up,” Wash says. He takes a breath. “Okay, so that pun _sounds_ like it was intended–”

“Jesus, Wash. Why aren’t you patrolling _with_ someone? It’s not like we don’t know enough younger heroes who would love to do it,” Tucker demands. 

“Why are you worried about me being unmasked if _you’re_ here in civilian clothes? What’s a bigger tip off?” Wash asks before there’s too fast of a crank and he’s left crashing into the floor. “Ow! Fuck, Tex.”

“Sorry, I actually wasn’t trying to intrude,” Tex says as she walked up, grin on her face. “This is honestly funny enough on its own. I just want to watch.”

“Would you stop changing the subject?” Tucker demands as he gets down on his knees and begins helping Wash wiggle free of his man restraints. “I’m worried about you.”

“That’s a change of pace,” Wash replies sarcastically. 

“You’re never going to slow down,” Tucker says with a roll of his eyes.

“I don’t see much point in slowing down when the fast pace works so well for me,” Wash replies. “I mean, tonight not withstanding. But… uh, this guy. He is… deceptively good at being a villain. He’s probably someone who could trick Tex.”

Tex crosses her arms and huffs.

Tucker turns and glances at their feathered, unconscious friend. “Him?”

“Yeah… he’s… the… Fowlest villain I can think of since the Parrot Avenger died.”

His two rescuers stare at him.

Wash frowns. “I can’t remember his name.”

“Beautiful,” Tex snorts. She turns and heads toward the gallons of water heading toward the drain. “I’m going to go save some innocent sharks.”

“Are you too dizzy to stand?” Tucker asks, offering his hand.

Wash takes it almost on instinct. “Not anymore, but I’d still like someone to lean on for the lamest rescue ever required of a veteran superhero,” he laughs as he’s helped to his feet. He doesn’t protest at all as his arm is slung around Tucker’s shoulders.

“Fowlest?”

“I had a lot of blood rushing to my head, Tucker, aright?”


	35. Overdue Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of Texas and Junior begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @secretlystephaniebrown ) Hero Time: Tex has to babysit Junior
> 
> A/N: I think I might have a problem. Because it’s WAY to easy for me to dip into Hero Time mode I’ve discovered. These are going to become my default characterization if I’m not careful lol

“What do you _mean ‘_ no’?”

Tex stared at her old friend incredulously. She didn’t care how upset or concerned he was, there was no room for sympathy when he was _that_ determined to bug the hell out of her. 

She waved her hand, “I was gone for just four years, Tucker, I’m pretty sure they didn’t change the definition of the word _no,”_ she said back.

“You’re _not_ going to watch my son for me?” Tucker asked, staring at her in disbelief. 

She hummed and put a hand to her chin. “What is a good word to substitute for ‘no’ since you’ve apparently forgotten what it means… hmm…”

“Don’t be an ass,” Tucker groaned. “Tex, _c’mon._ Junior’s a great kid. You’ll barely even notice him.”

“Then leave him home alone,” Tex replied with a shrug.

“He’s four!” 

“Well, he’s gotta learn sometime,” Tex replied. “Why don’t you ask Church to do it? Isn’t he your bitchsitter these days?”

Tucker scowled. “Yeah but he sucks at it. Also? Hates my kid. Also also? Likes to pretend Wash and I don’t actually date, so he gets weird and possessive when I ask him to watch for Junior on date nights.”

At that, Tex couldn’t help but tighten her fists. “Well when you put it that way I kinda want to get possessive and defensive, too. Where’s Wash? I’ll give him the gun talk.”

“I don’t need to be defended from _Wash,”_ Tucker said with an eye roll. “He’s…. like a kitten–”

“Cat jokes, real original,” Tex mocked. “In all seriousness, the talk’s actually _for_ Wash. I’m concerned about him. He’s obviously compromised in some way he hasn’t explained to me yet if he’s actually going out with Lavernius Tucker: walking condom commercial.”

“God, I have the _worst_ friends, nevermind. Shit I’ll call someone else–” Tucker groaned just before Tex grabbed his shoulder.

“I’ll watch the alien spawn,” she promised. “But _you_ can’t tell Church where I am tonight. Deal?”

“ _Major_ deal,” Tucker nodded. “Besides, you should come to love this. Church will never show up because he avoids babysitting and boyfriend reminders so much.”

Looking off almost fondly, Tex took a soft breath. “Ah. That sounds wonderful. No awkward ‘date me, Tex, I’m desperate and miserable’ conversations. Good times.”

“Still my best friend you’re talking about.”

“Still my fucks waving in the distance,” Tex sighed. “Twenty bucks an hour.”

“Deal.”

* * *

Junior was an alien.

Not the most astute observation of course. It was barely even a _correct_ one when it all came down to it, but Tex had some experience with real Sangheili aliens due to her time with Freelancer. And due to being upfront and personal with the Invasion, she had some experience with fake ones. 

As quickly as Junior was growing, there was still just something too soft around the edges about him to make him a truly passing Sangheili alien to someone like Tex. 

But then again maybe that was because they were a proud alien culture and the child in front of her was literally trying to work his separated jaws around a one-foot tall Peep bunny.

Why did they even _make_ Peeps that big.

“You know what that’ll get you?” she asked.

He blinked his beady eyes at her.

“Diabetes,” she answered her own question then reached for another one of the beers. Someone out of the happy couple had _shit_ tastes, but the other was decent. The unfortunate part was as well as she knew Tucker and Wash, it wouldn’t surprise her if either of them had terrible tastes in beer. 

“Blargh,” the alien child huffed back before chomping down on the candy coated marshmellow. 

Tex took a drink of beer and tilted her head at the kid. “Do you like Wash alright? Like is living with him working out okay for you and your dad?”

Once the subject was on Washington, Junior’s face immediately lit up and he nodded emphatically. The kid dropped his treat onto the table, scurried off his chair, and ran to the fridge where he pointed toward the door. It was all but covered in drawings. 

She had noticed them a bit before, but it was only as Junior waved and pointed at them, a string of honks and blarghs tumbling from his mouth, that Tex realized not all of them were drawn by just Junior.

“He draws with you,” she said with a blink. “Oh wow. That’s disgustingly adorable.” She pulled out her phone and began taking photos for evidence.

She wasn’t paying that much attention to Junior when she felt a tug on her pants. She looked to him, brows raised slightly, before she saw a paper crumpled in Junior’s hand. 

“Man, you’re quite the little artist, huh?” she asked before accepting the paper and looking at it.

It was a cute enough collection of stick figures – herself recognizable by the black and yellow of her super suit, Wash’s in his relatively new suit, and then Junior with a cape.

But what _really_ made Tex grin ear to ear was the recognizable pile of parts sprawled out underneath their feet, vanquished. 

She tilted the paper down and grinned at Junior. “Did you draw us defeating the big, loud, obnoxious Mega-Evil Church?” she asked in an almost cutesy tone.

Junior nodded excitedly. 

“If that isn’t just the sweetest – I like you, kid,” Tex announced. She took a seat by the one Junior had earlier and reached for the box of crayons. “But it needs more blood.”

* * *

“Don’t you think this is graphic?” Washington demanded as he waved the sheet of paper in Tex’s face.

She shrugged and continued out her way to leave. “Antiheroes are still heroes, Wash.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t babysit anymore,” Tucker said, face full of regret.

“Nah, I like it. I think I’ll come by randomly and start kicking you two out so I can continue to mold the kid in my own image,” she replied, throwing her coat over her shoulders.

The two concerned fathers stared at her before Wash turned and glared at Tucker. “This is your fault.”

“Oh, don’t even. She’s your friend, too!” he defended.

Tex grinned at the chaos before Junior’s head sticking out of his doorway caught her eye. She winked at him which was all the reassurance the kid apparently needed to race back into his room.

Yeah, Tex would be back.


	36. Father Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash takes a swing at the whole parenting thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @ashleystlawrence ) Fluffy war prompt: hero time Wash’s fist real attempt at parenting, trying to take all of tuckers stolen inappropriate sex shirts from junior.
> 
> A/N: When a prompt makes me laugh just reading it, I know we’re in for an excellent time, and oh man this one just made me absolutely delighted.

Living together came a little more naturally than Wash had imagined it to be. 

He was fully prepared to divide the apartment up more, give Tucker and Junior more personal space as they needed, make a point of doubling his morning jog if needed. He had all these elaborate plans and he spent a good week or so watching both of them carefully to see if there were any tics either of them did that could let him know when they were annoyed.

As it turned out, Tucker was very good at just _stating_ when Wash annoyed him like “Would you stop staring at us like we’re under a microscope? It’s creepy!”

After that, they relaxed, and living together became almost too easy. 

It turned out that as much as Tucker loved taking on the task of cooking – beyond Wash’s usual frozen dinners – he despised laundry. Wash picked that up. And as much as Wash found cleaning up dishes relaxing, he hated dusting. Tucker managed that. 

It all clicked, and they mostly found no need to pester each other with the other’s responsibilities. 

Which was why, as he folded the laundry, Wash found himself at an impasse. 

Washington stared at the aqua shirt and its faded print, mouth slightly ajar as he actually _read_ the words around the cartoonish Xbox controller that said “Like to play with my dongle?”

Tucker had several shirts that made Wash roll his eyes, but _this_ one he recognized both because he knew it was far too small for Tucker and also because while he had never bothered to read the shirt before, the cartoon controller was definitely something he recognized as constantly being worn by Junior.

The four year old.

“What the fuck, Tucker,” Wash said, looking up toward the ceiling of the laundromat and toward where their apartment would be.

He let out a heavy breath and considered whether or not to let the situation slide – they both were good at staying “in their lane” when it came to the living arrangement, and parenting was so far removed from Wash’s lane it was slightly ridiculous in his mind to even consider bringing up something about Junior or parenting to Tucker but…

That shirt.

Junior was a sweet kid. And if Wash was honest with himself – which, try as he might, _was_ a fairly rare occasion – then he had to admit that he had grown a certain level of protectiveness for Junior beyond him just being the son of the guy Wash was living with. 

And Wash could not even begin to imagine Junior picking a sentiment like the one on the shirt for himself.

Putting aside the rest of the laundry, Wash grabbed the shirt and made his way toward the stairs for the apartment. He carefully chose his approach, his words, tried to think of any way in which he would accidentally be overstepping his boundaries and then, by the time he opened the apartment door, he felt somewhat confident in looking Tucker straight in the eyes and holding up Junior’s shirt.

“Oh, sweet,” Tucker said, putting down the tablet he had been playing on over the counter. “That’s his favorite, he’s been wanting to wear it–”

“Do you know what this shirt says?” Wash asked, hoping beyond reason that there was a hilarious reasoning behind it all that _didn’t_ involve innuendo.

Tucker paused, his eyes rolling back in thought before he hummed. “Uh, something about pussy–”

Wash flinched back. That was far worse – that was the opposite of the response he was hoping for. “What– _no?_ It’s… I think it’s a lewd joke.”

For a moment, Tucker just stared at Wash in complete confusion before he grabbed the shirt out of Wash’s hands and looked at it. He snorted and shook his head. “Dongle,” he snickered.

Slightly in horror, Wash began to turn from  Tucker and tilt his head the other way. “I… Doesn’t that seem _inappropriate_ for a four year old to be wearing?” he asked worriedly.

He had a feeling that none of Tucker’s answers were going to please him too much.

Tucker blinked a few times and then looked at Wash again. “What? You think I get these _for_ him?”

Wash blinked back before sighing with some relief. He laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I didn’t think so. I just… didn’t want to intrude–”

“They’re my shirts.”

Taking a deep breath, Wash looked off and hummed. “And yet, somehow, that makes them worse.”

Shrugging, Tucker slung the shirt over his shoulder. “Junior’s a kid. Kids love to wear their parents’ things, makes them feel like bigger kids. It’s not like he gets the jokes anyway. And if he does: so what. It’s not like he’s watched a porn yet. Not directly anyway.”

“I don’t see how that’s a comparative note, he’s _four,”_ Wash said, feeling like he shouldn’t have to remind a parent of that fact.

“I was like six the first time I watched porn by myself,” Tucker shrugged.

Wash squinted at him. “That… I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Then don’t say anything. God, Wash, you ever realize you complicate things way too much?” Tucker rolled his eyes and turned back toward the counter and his tablet.

“Regardless, if it’s not appropriate for Junior – your stolen shirts or not – it’s your responsibility to keep a wrap on it.”

“That’s what she said,” Tucker said almost automatically.

Wash stared at him, pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to go toward Junior’s room. “Nevermind, I’ll do it myself.”

Fully enjoying his own antics, Tucker snickered the entire time Wash crossed the way and headed straight for Junior’s room. It was that kind of self satisfaction that Wash found both amusing himself and rather annoying when it was at his expense.

It also took so much of his focus that Wash, for reasons beyond him, was surprised to see Junior sitting on the floor of his own room, surrounded by an army of action figures.

Forcing a small smile, Wash waved slightly. “Um. Hi, sorry if I’m… intruding… and things.”

Junior blinked before quickly pushing up to sit upright and wave at Wash excitedly. The hero worship hadn’t quite died down yet, and the room became filled with clicks and honks that were too fast for Wash’s still learning ears to fully catch. 

“Right, right, that all looks like a lot of fun actually!” Wash offered as he scooted more toward the dresser. “And I think we can definitely play later, but right now I’m… doing laundry. And. Adult things. So I’m going to need to go through your shirts and stuff. Just for a sec, alright?”

The alien child stared at him curiously before frantically nodding his head. 

“Right,” Wash replied as he got down on his knees and opened the drawers. 

He looked through the shirts and was _stunned_ that it took him so long to notice things as unsubtle as _BLOW ME_ and _The Goal Is Any Hole. “_ I’m _really_ not good at observing what’s going on in my own house,” he decided as he began to remove the offending articles.

Which was about the time he felt the sharp chin of the little alien digging into his shoulder. 

Wash glanced toward Junior and noticed the bright eyed curiosity the kid was taking in Wash packing up his clothes. 

So sweet and innocent that Wash couldn’t help but remember there was probably no way the kid _really_ understood what his father’s shirts were saying. 

Which meant Tucker’s observation was right – Junior wore these things because they were his dad’s, because they made him feel like an adult.

Taking a breath, Wash put the shirts back down and looked with a small smile toward Junior. 

“Junior, have you ever seen my shirts?” he asked.

The child tilted his head and gave a small, “Blargh.”

“Well, I think a few of them are just too small for me anymore,” Wash explained. “I was going to give them out but you’ve gotten to be such a big boy lately… maybe you could wear them. If you want them.”

Almost immediately, Junior was on his feet and jumping up and down. 

“Alright, alright,” Wash laughed, getting to his feet himself. “Let’s go look through them, see what you like. 

And if his body warmed the moment Junior grabbed his hand to follow along, Wash was too blindly content with the situation to even notice. 


	37. Protective Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker has a run-in with someone's sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @goodluckdetective ) Optional Prompt: Hero Time. This is how Tucker meets Caboose’s older sister; grabbed off a building by a bird woman right when he was waiting for a date with wash.
> 
> A/N: I’m always grateful when you let me play in the Caboose Siblings sandbox, Iz. Niner and Caboose together are just too much fun entirely.

Things had grown into a quasi-comfortable rhythm at that point. Enough so that Tucker somewhat questioned Church’s constant complaining about being the significant other of a superhero. 

Sure, their first real adventure together had almost gotten Tucker killed multiple times and his son was kidnapped, not to mention the ridiculous number of times he had to watch Wash get hit by cars or dropped into dumpsters. So _that_ was a danger.

But everything since then had been fairly smooth sailing. 

Which was saying something because if there was one pastime that Tucker was good at participating in after years of Blood Gulch and, especially, rooming with Church and Caboose, it was bound to be complaining about every possible thing. 

Instead of complaining, Tucker actually found himself enjoying going a step or two beyond. Such as sitting, waiting on the rooftop of their now shared apartment, watching Wash’s coffee sitting on the ledge while Tucker waited and took a drink of his own.

It was almost so domestic it was kind of pathetic. 

He held his hands around the mug, keeping them warm, and glanced to his watch again.

Wash didn’t make it back for coffee every night, and Tucker sure as hell didn’t wait on the roof for him every night when there was a perfectly comfortable and warm apartment below, so there was a good chance Wash wasn’t going to pop by. Tucker liked to think he would, though.

Tucker  _did_ go through the trouble of making the coffee for him. The least the superhero could do was have a sixth sense about it and drop by.

“Eh, another fifteen,” Tucker decided before pulling his mug up for another drink. “I’m not working ‘til noon tomorrow anywa–”

There was a gust – a rush of air that felt like it took the breath right from his mouth. Without warning – in the blink of an eye – he was flat footed on the rooftop and then suddenly fifty feet in the air. 

And it probably said a _lot_ about his life that his first thoughts were instantaneously _Junior better already be in bed_ and _at least I held onto my coffee._

There were a lot of things that could have explained what was happening, but fortunately Tucker’s answer was right in front of him as he looked up and saw that there were arms hooked under his armpits from behind and there was a flap of wings around him. 

“We need to talk,” a very orderly voice said into his ears. 

“We need to do a lot of things,” Tucker replied. “Like land.”

“Mm, no,” she replied. “At least not yet.”

The next thing Tucker knew, he was looking forward and the old, useless radio tower from the entire other side of Blood Gulch was right in front of his face. He flinched, assuming they were about to ram right into it before they lifted up slightly Tucker was hoisted onto one of the rebars near the top.

His coffee spilled as he lunged for the first upright bar he could find and kept himself from slipping on the icy metal. 

“Aw, fuckberries,” he groaned as he watched his coffee slide down. When he heard a soft thud above him, he immediately glared up toward the woman who had grabbed him. “I have no caffeine now. I hope you’re happy.”

The woman was dressed in surprisingly plain looking clothes, save for the giant birdlike wings folding behind her. She _almost_ seemed normal. 

Which was a bad sign since the only normal looking people in Tucker’s life were usually hiding whatever made them strange.

“ _Now_ ,” the woman said, crossing her arms across her chest as she sat back on the bar, “we need to talk.”

Tucker held tighter to his spot as his sneakers slipped. “I gotta say, you’ve got my attention,” he announced.

“Good, because I want _all_ of it when we talk about my brother,” she replied very seriously. 

Tucker blinked and looked at her with a scrutinizing glare before cocking his head to the side. “Uh. Do I know him?”

“I should hope so, you lived with him,” she snapped.

Caught off guard, Tucker almost slipped again. “Wash is your bother!?”

The woman’s feathers ruffled as she made a disgusted looking face. “What? The Rookie? Fuck no. What the fuck are you on about?”

“Then who–”

“Michael,” she snapped.

Blinking, Tucker went quickly through the list of everyone he knew. “Michael… Michael… Who the fuck’s–” He paused, eyes widening slightly, and turned his head back to look at the woman in shock. Her feathers smoothed back out as she reached behind her shoulders and ran her fingers over them. “Holy shit – are you saying you’re _Caboose’s_ sister?”

“I am,” she said, eyes turning back on Tucker.

“You… Caboose’s sister has wings?” he got out as eloquently as he could.

“I have wings. _And_ some other neat tricks that you _really_ don’t want me to use on you,” she warned. 

“Wow, vague threats I have no idea whether or not you can follow up on but am leaning toward _can_ with caution… are you sure you’re not like… _Tex’s_ sister or something?” Tucker asked.

“I’m Michael’s sister,” she assured him.

Tucker squinted. “Yeah… no one around here calls him that. I barely know who you’re talking about. Like. Caboose… is _Caboose._ So–”

“Is he doing well?” she demanded.

“Caboose?” Tucker asked with another blink. “Uh… yeah. The guy’s a fucking tank. I can barely think of any reason he _wouldn’t_ be doing alright.”

“He had quite a scare a few months ago.”

Thinking back, Tucker tried to figure out what ‘scare’ would have entailed and realized that it lined up pretty well with the whole O’Malley fiasco and the thing with blowing up a warehouse. Tucker seemed to recall himself and Wash being the ones left a whole lot worse for wear in that one. 

“Are you kidding? He barely even remembers it!” Tucker replied.

“Which I guess is your guys’ free pass to let _him_ be put in danger for your sakes,” she hissed back.

“Hey! That’s slander,” Tucker yelled, daring to let go with one hand so he could point for emphasis. “Or… libel. I’ll be honest, I never learned the difference.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Nah, it’s bullshit,” Tucker replied. “Say what you will about us assholes around here but,” he waved around to the dilapidated landscape of Blood Gulch, “we’re the kinda assholes that stick together and look out for one another, y’know? Caboose’s one of us. So we wouldn’t let anyone _outside_ our group do any permanent harm kinda shit to him.”

She looked at Tucker curiously. “That’s the best you can come up with when a woman can literally shove you off a fifty-foot high structure?” she asked incredulously.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Tucker shrugged. “If you’re related to Caboose, odds are you’re decent people. And if you’re not then I have a superhero boyfriend and superhero friend who would kick your ass. And no one wants that.”

To that, the woman finally laughed some. “Alright, that’s fair.”

“Hey, just answer me one thing,” Tucker called up. “What’s all this for? If you wanna know how Caboose’s doing, why don’t you just ask him?”

She stared back at him for a moment and took a breath. “Look, heroes involved with that whole Invasion fiasco a while back… most of us who made it through alive? We’re not keen on coming back. It was complete _bullshit_ what we all went through – and worse yet, what other people went through because of us.”

Scratching at his head, Tucker shrugged, “So?”

“Michael J. Caboose’s sister was a superhero, plain and simple. There’s never been anything of interest to her outside of being the kind of hero that a little brother could look up to in the skies,” she replied crisply. “I’m not going to poke my head around when I can’t keep it above my shoulders anymore. Not when I’m the furthest thing from a real hero.”

Tucker dropped his shoulders and rolled his eyes so hard he felt like his head was going to come off with him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake – you superheroes are so melodramatic I swear to– _no one cares about that,”_ he groaned. “Those of us who aren’t in bright colored capes and leotards don’t give a rat’s ass as long as our family ends up okay in the end.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she continued.

“I’m betting it’s not,” Tucker replied. 

She looked off, disinterested in the line of thought.

Sighing, Tucker lowered himself down enough to sit on the bar wrung of the radio tower and leaned his head back. “What else do you want me to tell you about Caboose?”

Perking up immediately, the woman looked back at him.

* * *

Wash stared at the cold cup of coffee on the ledge of the roof and then scratched at his head. He knew he had taken a bit longer than usual on patrol, so he supposed that Tucker had given up and left the coffee for him. 

As he lowered down and scooped it up, he felt a sudden rush of cold air down his back and heard several rustling _thunks_ before he was able to turn back around.

The moment he turned around, Tucker was behind him, waving slightly.

“Hey, sorry the coffee’s not hot,” Tucker said. 

Wash worked his mouth a few times before looking up and around. “Where… how did you–”

“Eh, it’s a long story,” Tucker shrugged as he headed toward the stairs. “Really boring stuff, actually. Stuff you already know about.”

Sighing, Wash just followed Tucker. “I would like to remind you that you were _convinced_ when we first met that you were _normal_ and had nothing interesting happen to you.”


	38. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church is not invited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @ashleystlawrence ) Fluffy war Prompt. Tucker or Wash to Church. “this started out as a over lapping training schedule, that only sort of morphed into A party once we all realized you were the only person that wasn’t here.”
> 
> A/N: There is no higher compliment I can give a Hero Time prompt than “I laughed out loud just receiving it” and yours area always SO excellent for delivering on just that.

Church stared, mouth agape, from the doorway of Wash’s apartment. 

With a dramatic wave to the room, he glared at the out-of-costume superhero and shouted, “What the hell is _this_ shit!? You’re having a party without me?”

Washington looked uncomfortable – that level of uncomfortable that seemed to be his natural output around Church – before he shook his head and motioned. “Oh, no. Of course not. I mean–”

The Reds crashed behind him and it was difficult to not feel like as real as the punches being thrown were, it was somewhat playing to the beat of the music Kai was playing while she schmoozed with Tex.

The two of them looked back at the scene for a moment before Caboose ran by with Junior on his back.

Sputtering, Church looked at Wash horrified. “Fucking _Caboose!?_ You have my _roommate_ at your fucking party and didn’t invite _me!?”_

 _“_ Technically _no one’s_ invited,” Wash replied. “I have no idea how it got started.”

“People just randomly crash your house regardless of the _thousands of dollars_ worth of security you have all over the place?” Church asked critically.

“No, they’re all _here_ as guests, I just don’t know how the thing developed into…” Wash stopped himself and clicked his tongue, face looking like it was searching for terminology.

Church narrowed his eyes. “You were going to say ‘party.’”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Wash ordered. “And you can’t prove that’s what I was going to say so there.”

“Okay, _Washington,_ then what the fuck happened here?” Church demanded. “ _Everyone I know_ is in your house right now brawling or dancing. _Including my ex-girlfriend who’s avoiding me._ And you’re trying to say it’s _not_ a party you didn’t invite me to?”

“Look, I’m just trying to not be rude,” Wash said with brutal honesty. “You’re still Tucker’s best friend… for reasons _completely_ beyond my understanding, but I’ve come to accept it.”

“How noble of you, Mister Superhero,” Church said scathingly.

Wash stared at Church for a moment then, apparently, decided to take the mittens off. “We _are_ having a party without you.”

“What!?” Church cried you. “You fucking _bastard!_ Why?”

“Well, it’s not like we set out to have a party,” Wash replied, making a face as he looked back and saw Tucker and Grif raiding the fridge of beer again. “And to be completely honest with you, the fact that this is happening in my apartment right now is one anxiety attack away from my worst nightmare. But it’s not a _purposeful_ party with everyone you know excluding you.”

Unconvinced, Church crossed his arms. “Oh? Then what is it?”

The superhero rubbed his neck. “Well, it just started out as overlapping training schedules – Junior and Tex work together really well, and she’s been keeping Caboose’s powers in check lately too since they’re about at the same strength level, I have the Red Gang come over every now and then to keep check, it’s just a lot of juggling. And then when we all got here at the same time it sorta… morphed into this party. You know… Once we all realized you were the only person that wasn’t here.”

They stared at each other.

“You’re the fucking worse,” Church announced.

“I’m aware,” Wash sighed, looking truly miserable as he glanced back at his apartment. “Also I think Lopez and Sheila passed out in the bathroom together which is why it’s been locked for twenty minutes… and I don’t want to break down that door…”

“Oh boo hoo,” Church grumbled, glaring at the party. “Assholes. I don’t want to party with them anyway.”

They both stared at the utter chaos taking place over the laundromat. 

“It probably wouldn’t be that bad to have a six pack, though,” Church sighed. “Y’know, away from all the bastards.”

Wash blinked a few times before glancing back at Church. “I can… grab one and meet you on the roof?”

“Misery loves company,” Church replied.

Beginning his way to the fridge, Wash called back, “You know, this could be the start–”

“Do _not_ finish that, cornball,” Church snapped.


	39. Something Like Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their one year anniversary and Wash isn't sure how else he expected it to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( anonymous ) Fluff war/Fluff week Prompt: Wash ending up in the dumpster again on their anniversary. Tucker amused.
> 
> A/N: The most hilarious part about this request is that, honestly, I can’t imagine any other way for their anniversary to go.

Wash stared expectantly at the lid over his head, waiting for it to come open and at least give enough light so he could see how many of his fingers were broken from the fall. 

His ears were still more than a little muffled, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was injury and how much of that was being sunk into four days worth of trash bags. 

When the lid opened, he was torn between relief and humiliation when he saw a familiar face.

“Am I late?” he asked with as much cheese as he could stand to put in his smile. 

“You asshole,” Tucker growled, throwing both lids up after confirming Wash was alive. He was already halfway to pulling himself into the bin with the superhero before he bothered to glare directly at Wash again. “Why the fuck did you go on patrol tonight?”

“It was just supposed to be for an hour,” Wash defended, pushing himself achingly enough to sit upright. He was a little surprised when Tucker didn’t offer a hand but rather sunk down and sat opposite of him. “What?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Tucker sighed. “Like, _really._ Do you know how much trouble you would be in if you’d gotten yourself killed the night of our anniversary? Do you have any idea how much that sounds like a supervillain origin story?”

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Wash huffed, “To be honest, as much as you guys talk about it, I’m pretty sure Blood Gulch residents just wait around for an excuse to have a supervillain origin story.”

“Then stop making it so easy,” Tucker retorted. He leaned forward and grabbed the hand Wash landed on, making the superhero hiss instinctively. “Oh, calm down, you big baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Wash said. “About going out on patrol before our date.”

“And not telling me about it?” Tucker asked as he examined the hand. 

“And not telling you about it,” he agreed. “Though, to be fair, I didn’t think you would have said yes–”

“I wouldn’t have,” Tucker said, raising his brows. “I think they’re just stubbed. Bet it hurts like a motherfucker, though.”

“You have no idea,” Wash sighed. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you. I had to go on patrol, so… I figured just a quick look around the block…”

Tucker raised a brow. “You _had_ to patrol? What the fuck does that mean? Do heroes have a timesheet they have to punch in or something?”

“No, it’s just,” Wash pinched the bridge of his nose with his good hand, not disturbing Tucker’s grip on his other in the slightest. “Patrolling is calming to me. It helps me with, I don’t know, nerves.”

“Jesus, Wash, we’ve been together for a _year,”_ Tucker groaned as he rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t make you nervous at this point.”

“Well, you still do,” Wash said firmly. “ _All_ of this new life does. That’s… Well, that’s just how I know that it means so much to me to begin with.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Tucker grew a splitting grin and looked back down to Wash’s hand. “This is the least romantic place you could have picked to give that speech, Wash.”

“I don’t know,” Wash shrugged, knocking his knuckles against the metal behind him. “I think it’s pretty appropriate for us at this point.”

“Finally admitting we’re trash and that’s why we keep meeting in dumpsters?”

“Something like that, Tucker,” Wash laughed. “Something like that.”


	40. Patrol Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior has been Wash's partner for a few years now, but there's one case that Wash knows he shouldn't be on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Not sure if you are taking prompts or not in general but would like to see for Hero Time either A.) Junior getting hurt and Tucker freaking out or B.) Tucker getting badly hurt by a super villain and Wash freaking out.
> 
> A/N: My inbox is always open to prompts and I’m especially always looking for material people are interested in seeing expanded on in Hero Time, anon, so you have really hit the bullseye on this one. Honestly, I’m really engaged in both of these but I’m going to fill just the one because I think there’s a certain event that comes up in Double Time (as far off as that seems for now!) that will fulfill kind of both of these in various ways. So there’s that cryptic hinting to look forward to! lol

Junior was not a sidekick. Junior was a _partner._

Washington found over and over again that he was the one who actually cared about making the distinction. What with Junior still proudly clipping out newspaper tag lines about them no matter the monicker and Tucker carefully guarded about every bit of news surrounding the two if sidekick _or_ partner was listed between their names.

But on nights like that night, with Junior giddily at his side, emphatically waiting for permission to pounce, Wash felt content. 

He had trained Junior, given him the strictest of rules which were slowly peeled back one at a time. He made sure everything was as manageable and structured as possible and the teenager had _excelled_ in the years under the tutelage. 

Enough so that that night, as the men in black huddled around the pawn shop door, Wash took a certain amount of pride in nodding to the men below.

Junior’s eyes twinkled with understanding and soon the alien child was near silently lowering into the alley below.

From his perch on the roof, Wash felt on the verge of panic. But though he was poised ready for a diving attack, he restrained himself. He had to in order to give Junior this oh so important task of working on his own. 

They had been building toward the even for weeks, months even.

And it wasn’t as if Wash hadn’t garnered a reputation among the criminal element over the years. 

He was known to be feared, and he was also known to cut no slack on those who managed to lay a hand on his partner. 

So even as Wash stayed at his perch, he knew he wasn’t sending Junior in ill prepared or truly alone.

Junior moved like a well oiled machine. 

Utterly silent as he slid in behind the robbers, curiously cocking his head as he rose to full height behind them, and got a good look at their progress. Then he waited for the opportune moment – 

“See,” the man at the lead chuckled. “Didn’t sound a single alarm!”

Then Junior unleashed a well practiced roar, right in their ears.

In horror, the men all dropped their things and mostly took off. But Junior was prepared.

In a strong leap, Junior managed to cut them off at the neck of the alley. 

There was a unison of yells before Junior’s quick jabs, a fierce kick. He dodged the last man’s pitiful swing and sent him crashing to the ground.

Wash kept the prideful swell in his chest on the down low before ducking down and landing just a few feet away. But he allowed himself to clap as he approached. Which Junior enjoyed and took a bow to. 

He deserved it.

“Could have been faster,” Wash critiqued, earning an indignant eye roll. It made him smirk in that way that Tucker said gave him wrinkles. “But you did good. _Very_ good.”

Junior’s chest puffed up and he gave a loud honk.

“Before we know it, you won’t need me here at all,” Wash joked.

And though it was still very much a joke, Wash did not miss the way Junior’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Or how Wash himself felt a pang of worry despite himself.

* * *

Wash had been in charge of dinner that night with Tucker having to pull two shifts, so it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when he pulled out the takeout menu and ordered everyone’s favorites. 

Tucker had only rolled his eyes and remained sprawled across the couch as if it belonged to him alone, and Junior rolled on the floor with the behemoth of a cat. 

“Two orders of orange chicken, one fried rice with steak – rare again, yeah,” Wash said with the phone nestled between his ear and his shoulder. He was flipping through some papers from the mayor’s office when he heard the tell-tale bleep of another incoming call. “And… a box of Chinese donuts. Same directions as usual. Okay. Thanks, bye.”

The hurried tone was enough to draw the attentions of his family. Wash tried to not look their way as he hung up on the Chinese restaurant and pulled up the second call.

Just as he was worried, it was definitely Tex’s number.

“Goddammit,” he growled nearly as loud as his stomach before pulling the phone back up to his ear. “What’ve you got?”

“An old friend who has a preference for knives and staging murders to frame a certain superhero I know,” her voice said without missing a beat. “I have it handled probably, but you know what a mess it causes for your alibis when you’re not around to cage this sucker yourself.”

Wash scowled. He _hated_ dealing with serial killers and the other, more serious scum of the city. They always managed to keep him out for days at a time. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Meet with the commissioner first to clear things up?” he offered, already heading toward the closet where he kept his suit.

Tucker let out a frustrated groan and threw his head back. “You’ve gotta be _kidding_ me!” 

Junior dropped whatever he had been doing and was beginning to follow behind.

“Already halfway there,” Tex let him know before hanging up.

Wash was already getting dressed when he noticed Junior grabbing his own things. 

“No,” Wash said strictly. “Not tonight. Just have dinner with your dad, I’ll be home soon enough.”

Junior began to let out his own frustrated grunts and growls at the directions but he listened. He was more than aware of how Wash didn’t put up with disobedience in the field. It’d be taking back a lot of the progress they’d had together already.

By the time Wash was heading toward the stairs, Tucker was already standing there, looking at him expectantly. 

“Soon enough?” Tucker asked skeptically.

Biting back on his mouth some, Wash sighed. “You might want to just put my food in the microwave. I’ll pick it up later.”

“Oh, it’s one of _those_ nights,” Tucker groaned. “Well, keep your phone on. I hate when you deal with these guys.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Wash sighed and continued on the way out.

Goodbyes were something they had taken great lengths to remove from the family vernacular. They were never a good omen.

* * *

Tex waited for him, which was a good sign in itself since she wasn’t exactly a patient person. Her waiting usually denoted a sense of calm on their end of things. 

“Took you long enough,” she still snarked. 

“Not _that_ long,” he argued half-heartedly before walking across the rooftop and shaking the commissioner’s hand.

He was a good man, would be helpful to them without relying _too_ much on them alone to take down the serial killer. He had a healthy reservation about superheroes compared to his own police force that Wash preferred in their situation. 

They chattered among each other like adults. Shared details, insights, so on and so forth. 

And as it went on, in the back of Wash’s mind, he was so relieved to not have to worry about Junior in all of that mess. 

For once, having Junior at home was feasible and _real._

He’d have to watch Tex’s back, but of course she was _Tex._

It was nothing like being responsible for watching out for the kid you had been raising as a son for over a decade. 

“Can you two try to do this before anyone gets seriously hurt?” the commissioner wisely asked.

“Absolutely,” Wash assured him without a second thought. 

“We’ll do our best,” Tex nodded in agreement. 

* * *

Tex came crashing through the front window, boot first, and took the driver out. 

That was fine, she liked the smash and slams. To deliver the big punch to the baddies. Wash figured she was more than deserving of them at that point in their careers. 

Washington was more than happy to come i through the side window, grabbing the would-be victim and leaping away from the car before the Tex-directed collision into a lamp post. 

He tucked the woman into a roll with him and groaned at the scraping of his suit against the tarmac. 

“Damn it, Tex,” Wash hissed as he pushed up to his hands and knees. “The mayor is sick of the property damage!”

She laughed as she jumped to the side of the car, tore off the door, and drug the suspect out by the collar of his bloodied shirt. “What do I care? I didn’t vote for her,” she responded. 

They stared at him before Tex rummaged his jacket and pulled out the knives in question, throwing them to Wash. “Look. Here to clear your name once and for all.”

He rolled his eyes and got to his feet before coming to her side, grabbing the knives along the ground.

The more he looked over them, the more he felt disgusted with the whole situation he and Tex had been dealing with. What a waste of human life, so many knives bloodied red and– 

One bloodied purple. 

And, suddenly, Washington’s own blood ran cold through his body as he stared at it. His breath quickened, his ears rang with an obnoxious noise he couldn’t quite make it stop – couldn’t quite focus on anything but the knife and the purple blood.

It was only when Tex grabbed his shoulder that he snapped out of it.

“Hey, you gonna make the call to the police or…?”

Wash turned and stared at her. He felt like someone had just gutted him. 

“No,” he finally answered. “You make it.”

He took off toward the alley and Tex watched in bewilderment. “What?” she cried out. 

“I have to check on something!” Wash yelled back to the other superhero before taking to the roofs.

* * *

His heart was pounding in his ears, his mouth felt dry. Somehow Wash still navigated the rooftops almost on autopilot, pulling out his phone and hitting the speed dial for Tucker’s cell.

He was met with a compulsive groan over the line for his troubles. 

“Jesus, Wash,” his partner muttered. “It’s…. damn, it’s three in the morning. Everything alright?”

“Did Junior leave?” Wash spat out as fast as he could, his eyes scanning every alley he passed over.

“Huh?” Tucker asked, obviously still more than half asleep.

“Are you sure Junior didn’t leave?” Wash demanded, skidding to a stop more to yell into the phone than to catch his breath though he needed it. 

Tucker grew silent and Wash could just imagine the father’s face as he fully sobered up at the question. There was the distinct creek of the door neither of them had budged on fixing yet and Wash knew Tucker was heading into Junior’s room. 

“Why are you asking me this? I thought you told him not to go tonight,” Tucker’s tone edged toward accusing.

“I _did,”_ Washington said. “I just. I have a feeling. I need you to tell me Junior’s in bed and–”

There was a heavy pause between them, one that was making Wash’s stomach turn over. 

“Wash,” Tucker hissed. “Find him before _I_ do, or I swear I’ll kill him.”

Wash ended the call before another word could be uttered or before he could cause anymore panic at home. Or before Tucker said anything else that they both would _deeply_ regret if Wash’s paranoia for once proved to be accurate. 

Then he combed. 

Wash combed every street he knew, traced back the steps Tex and he had taken to capturing the mass murderer, ignored the constant alerts from his phone. He kept himself _completely_ focused on finding _something_ to give him a clue.

And then he found it in the worst way possible.

The veteran hero dropped on one knee and traced his gloved fingers through the dark, purple pool in one of the street corners he and Tex must have passed by only half an hour before. He stared with horror at the consistency, the stain of his gloves. 

But he didn’t let himself feel beyond it. 

Moving forward, Wash moved toward the trail drug from the puddle and felt himself go completely numb as he came to a pile of garbage bags with a familiar blue-and-aqua armor shimmering just beneath.

“God, no,” Wash gasped before throwing himself toward the scene, yanking out and throwing every bit of garbage until he cleared it off his partner, sidekick, _step-son_.

Junior looked up, and instantly Wash felt like he could breathe.

“Junior,” Wash choked out, dropping to his knees beside the teen and looking for the injury. It was an immediate find, Junior’s thigh was wrapped up with the emergency gauze Wash had the kid carry in his utility belt.

“Blargh,” Junior said, voice weak but eyes and meaning strong.

Wash looked at him horrified. “Good? You’re… you got hurt, you disobeyed, you… No. This is _not_ good. This is the furthest thing from good,” he snapped, his hands almost shaking as he checked the bandages.

“Honk!”

“Yes, your first-aid is textbook, that does _not_ make this good,” Wash hissed, leaving Junior’s leg alone to grab him and hoist him the best Wash could over his shoulders. “I would say you’re grounded, but that is _not even close_ to the amount of trouble you’re in,” Wash warned.

Junior groaned as they began to leave the alley, but it was far from understanding what a heart attack the boy had given Wash and Tucker. 

And that was slowly beginning to burn the superhero up. 

* * *

Tucker’s face was twisted in horror and concern as they came through the door. It was the most horrified Wash thought he had ever seen the man.

Which was saying something considering the scares they had been through. 

“Blargh–” Junior began to explain only for Tucker to raise his hands and shake his head. 

“Oh, god, don’t talk right now,” Tucker warned. “I… I am so mad at you. I’m so pissed. I’m gonna– gonna…”

As soon as Tucker threw his arms around Junior’s neck, the young alien went stiff, dark eyes widening. The cold silence that Wash had forced him to endure on the way back was nothing compared to the actual, gut clenching concern of his father’s actions.

Wash walked past them, still cold and unfeeling all over, but managing to direct himself to the bathroom and shut the door before vomiting his mostly empty stomach into the toilet. 

In all his life, in all his _many_ years of being a superhero, Wash had never felt that before. 

It was the sickest, most horrible fear and terror he had ever known and he was barely able to keep his vision unblurred from the moment he saw the purple blood to right then, home and safe. 

He supposed it was just practice and self control that had kept him from losing it in that time. But it was far from a comforting thought. 

There was a courtesy knock before Tucker pushed open the door anyway. 

“He could have died out there!” Tucker yelled, not waiting at all. He was working himself into a full rant, as he did when upset. But he paused and gave Wash a full look over. “Holy shit– Wash? Are you alright, did you get cut, too? Did you catch the guy–”

“I’m fine,” Wash replied, resting his elbows on the rim of the bowl before sinking his face into his hands. “I’m…”

Swaying on his feet slightly, Tucker took a moment before walking into the bathroom and sitting agains the wall behind Wash. He was wearing that stoic face he tried to put on when being strong that just made Tucker look like he was annoyed.

But then again, it could have just meant he was annoyed. 

“I… thought the worst,” Wash explained. “I prepared us for… For _everything_ , Tucker. I prepared us for absolutely everything. I trained Junior for everything. But I didn’t. I’m _not_ ready for the worst.”

Tucker waited quietly before lowering his head. “I can’t deal with there being a ‘worst’ for us,” he explained. “At all. I don’t…”

They lapsed into silence. 

“Would you ever quit?” Tucker asked. “Not for us. But… if it was your life you were worried about? Would that ever be enough to make you quit?”

“No,” Wash answered without even having to think on it.

If there was disappointment in that answer, Tucker didn’t show it. He took a breath and collected himself. 

“If we ask him to stop, is he just going to go out on his own again?” Tucker asked. “Pull a you? Never stop for himself?” 

Wash took a shaking breath before turning around and sitting back against the toilet. He stared back into Tucker’s eyes and shook his head. “I can’t know for sure, but…”

They both knew the answer. 

“I don’t know if I can keep up worrying about both of you,” Tucker forced a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It might kill me quicker than saving up for our retirement.”

“Well, for at least a month you won’t have to worry about both of us,” Wash said firmly. “We can’t stop him indefinitely without him breaking the rules. But we can force a grounding.”

Tucker looked at Wash. “A _month?”_

 _“_ Two?” he tried again.

“Goddamn, you’re still an amateur,” Tucker sighed. “Three months plus probation.” He looked Wash in the eyes and elaborated, “Church-sitting.”

“Cruel and unusual, Dad Number One,” Wash replied. “I like it.”

“If the punishment fits the crime, Dad Number Two,” Tucker replied. 


	41. Tucker Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [NOT CANON - RvB Angst War Prompt] In one version of the tale, the happy ending doesn't last for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @goodluckdetective ) Angst war prompt: Hero Time AU. Wash dies in the line of duty. Three years later he comes back. And Tucker has taken his place.
> 
> A/N: You know, it amuses me that I have this crack AU that is fun and light-hearted and everyone enjoys the rom-com-iness to it an all the characters just being kind of jokey. But the second an angst war shows up BAM what happens. We all break the cutie. Well, then. Joke’s on you guys: my soul was already a dark and dangerous place before all this.

As dumb as it makes him, Tucker doesn’t listen to Tex’s words. Not beyond the address, the _Wash_ , and the _come quick._

Junior has no idea what’s going on, clinging to Tucker’s chest, still small despite his recent growth. His grip’s strong – stronger than it’s ever been, half in fear, half in the light of Wash’s training. 

They get to the gym, an old run down thing Tucker finds faintly recognizable in the back of his mind (it’s not important, none of it’s important in the grand scheme of things. Not with Wash there and–)

Church is there but, unlike himself, he has nothing to say. His robotic eyes are just blown wide and strangely sympathetic as he takes Junior when Tucker hands him over without protest. 

A voiceless Church _should_ be the worst sign but it’s not because further in there’s Tex and she’s actually saying something remorseful and understanding. Things that are so _not_ Tex that Tucker takes no time to brush past her, not compute what’s being said, even as he drops to his knees next to the bench. 

Despite everything, despite his refusal to accept the warnings and the words and the _everything,_ Tucker can’t deny that there is nothing moving on Wash, that there’s no rise of his chest, there’s no flicker in those deeply bruised eyes, nothing changing about those chapped lips. 

There’s nothing stopping Tucker from running his hands through the hair of a deadman, dragging warm fingers against a stiffly cold neck. Nothing that can deny that when he grabs Washington’s hand there’s no grip back. 

There’s no blood, no cuts, no open wounds. Just bruising. 

“It was an energy weapon,” Tex is saying behind him. She’s been talking the whole time but Tucker’s never really _heard_ her. “I’ve never seen it before. We… We don’t know what it did.”

“So he might be asleep. Or like. Cryogenically frozen. Or…” Tucker’s brain is wracking itself for the ludicrous examples from their far-from-normal lives. 

“No,” Tex says lowly. “No, Tucker. We know better than that.”

And suddenly, this charmed life, these last few amazing months, are gone. 

Over.

Tucker feels like his life is over.

* * *

They say, after experiencing trauma and loss, you shouldn’t make big decisions. 

Tucker wonders how long he should really wait, though. After all, it’s been two weeks and it’s not like he can get away from the apartment they shared. It’s not like he’s not inheriting all that money Wash had. It’s not like he can just leave the broken hearted child he’s raising. Or that he’s able to talk to any of their friends without the same shellshock and loss enters their voices that Tucker has all the goddamn time. 

How long is enough? Because it’s been two weeks and that’s still not enough according to Sheila when he calls her with his decision to quit. 

“We’ll talk about this later, when you can think about it more,” Sheila says over the phone, like it’s not already thought about. 

Two weeks also isn’t enough when he refuses Church’s offer to move in with him again. 

“Yeah, well, when that stupid fuggly apartment gets on your last nerve, call me again,” Church says as he walks out the door, like Tucker has nerves left for the apartment to bother. 

And two weeks is too soon to be taking the art off the fridge that Junior drew up a storm of himself and his family, of his hero in costume and–

“Blargh,” Junior tries to tearfully argue, like looking at those drawings hasn’t made him cry every time he goes to the fridge now, too.

“I’m not doing anything right, am I?” Tucker asks, aggravation cracking his voice as he presses his forehead into the cold door. “I’m not doing _anything at all._ But it’s not like I can just… keep going on. I can’t pretend it’s all like it was before. It’s not, Junior. I’m sorry. _Lavernius Tucker_ isn’t really what everyone needs right now anyway.”

Junior honks, just as broken up and tearful as it sounded two weeks ago. 

Everything is stagnant from the moment Tucker laid eyes on Wash. 

But Tucker has the power to change it, he thinks. He has the power to do _something_ about it, but…

He looks down to the drawings in his hands and he sees that costume and he thinks–

And it’s a dangerous thought. It’s not a _right_ thought. 

But two weeks should be long enough to start making decisions, he figures. And he puts the drawings of their family as heroes back under their magnets to Junior’s sighs of relief. Happy that his hard work will remain on display

And Tucker’s life is still over, but maybe the Hero of Blood Gulch’s isn’t. 

* * *

His first night out and he gets punched so hard in the face he thinks he sees stripes. 

Tucker knows it’s not going to be easy, he’s been around heroes for years, but it’s been a while since he was on the receiving end of a genuine hit. And it _smarts_ a hell of a lot more than he remembers, too.

He lands somewhere on the pavement behind him, disoriented. But he’s not out of it enough to not recognize the choked sounds of surprise and horror that erupt from where the goons he’s been after were standing. 

Blinking, he manages to string his focus together enough to see Tex drop the men without even a hair of her own out of alignment. 

And then he sees the anger in her eyes.

“What the _hell_ are you doing!?” she demands angrily, stepping forward and grabbing his shoulder before yanking him up. 

“I’m…” Tucker doesn’t have the right words prepared. 

What _is_ he doing?

“You’re…” she takes a breath after she sets him on his feet. “Get the fuck out of his uniform, Tucker.”

“No,” Tucker says.

“Tucker–”

“You know, I used to give Wash so much shit,” Tucker growls out. “I did. I could _not_ figure out what the hell he was doing all this time. But you know what? I get it. I _get it_ now, Tex. And I won’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Because he was right – Blood Gulch? Me? _Junior?_ We need a hero. We need someone to look up to.”

Tex’s nose curls. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“You want to stay invisible while you work,” Tucker clarifies. “You’re the best, you don’t need congratulations to do it. But I’m not. I’m… a guy with some knives. Struggling the best I can to prove the city’s wrong and that some kid from Blood Gulch can be worth a damn.”

Still scowling, Tex shakes her head. “You realize, Wash’s powers were lame but _he still had them._ Maybe not _super-_ agility, or _super-_ reflexes, but better than normal. He was _made_ for this kind of roof crawling grunge work. You? You will need a fuck ton of training. You will need more protection and more tools. You will need everything. _And_ you’ll be known as one of the losers who’s a vigilante because they’ve got nothing to lose.”

Tucker looks at her seriously. “Think you know anyone willing to train a vigilante with nothing to lose?”

She’s not happy, but she doesn’t say no.

* * *

Turns out Tex’s version of _training_ is handing Tucker his ass. 

_A lot._

He’s neither disappointed nor surprised. And he doesn’t stop getting up either. 

Almost three weeks in, he realizes that any of the days he’s wearing Wash’s uniform or his old t-shirts, Tex makes their practices twice as long and three times as brutal. Going so far as to give him a black eye on accident once. 

After realizing that, Tucker doesn’t miss the opportunity to wear Wash’s things for _every_ practice

Junior watches, but that innocent admiration, that glow to his face that Wash doing the very same things once brought, is completely gone. 

He watches Tucker with fear and anxiety every day. Like he’s about to disappear completely.

Once upon a time, Tucker would have quit for Junior’s sake alone. 

But anymore it’s hard to think of himself as the same Tucker. So he trains more. Gets put down harder. Gets back up _faster._

* * *

By the time he is on the streets on his own, Tucker feels… _something._

It’s something that is absent when he sits, jobless but provided for, in his lonely apartment. It’s something he misses in the long hours of watching, detachedly, as Junior does homework. It’s something that burns desire into his body in the couple of hours he lies awake in bed.

He _feels something_ on the streets that erases his new found loneliness and anger and frustration. 

For all the hours he spends wondering _why_ and _how,_ it melts away the moment he hits the streets and puts down the criminals of the night. 

Brutally. Angrily. _Gleefully._

Tex is impressed with him. Church is suspicious of him.

And, well, if his other friends have thought one thing or another about it they’ve not been able to tell him since he’s not talked to them in weeks. 

He is a scourge on crime and while Washington was, too, there was a corny selflessness to it. 

Sure Wash loved it, but Wash also loved curling up on the couch on a night that Tex had things covered. He could be pulled back into bed to let his splinted bones settle when needed. 

Wash had people to keep the other parts of his life in check. 

He had Tucker.

Well, Tucker _doesn’t_ have Wash. He barely has a _Tucker_ outside of his nights. 

There’s Tucker who pretends he still has the heart to be Junior’s dad, and in many ways Tucker clings to that responsibility as the one and _only_ thing keeping him from a super suit full time. 

But beyond that there really isn’t a Tucker.

There’s Blood Gulch’s personal hero, cracking heads and enjoying it.

Enjoying it because it’s the only time he really feels alive. 

* * *

When he doesn’t bother going home until three in the morning for the fourth time that week, Church absolutely loses his mind.

“I’m done. Fuck this – fuck _all of this –_ I’m tired of you doing this to me!” Church roars.

Church has never been one to accommodate his _Churchness_ for others, especially not a sleeping Junior, but the volume of the outburst surprises even Tucker. 

“What? Keeping the city safe?” Tucker asks haughtily back.

“No, you fucking jackass!” Church snaps. “You only thinking about yourself! I’m fucking _tired_ of it!” 

That actually gets a laugh out of Tucker. 

“Only thinking of _myself?_ Wow, that’s rich coming from you,” Tucker bites back, not caring for the disgusted expression Church is giving him. 

“You’re going through fucked up shit, boo-hoo,” Church growls. “I can even put up with the _ultimate betrayal_ that is my best friend becoming a Cape and Cowl Crowd groupie. But for fuck’s sake, Tucker, it’s _been a year._ He’s gone. And you’re not him.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Tucker hisses. 

“Right. No. You know what? You _are_ right!” Church says, heading for the door. “Wash actually _believed_ his self-delusion that he was doing everything for some _greater good._ You’ve known all along that you’re just pulling all these stunts for yourself. And someday you’re going to wake up and realize you have _nothing left_ because of it.”

“Fuck you!” Tucker roars as he follows Church to the door. “I _already_ have nothing left!” 

He slams the door after his former friend and doesn’t care that, deep down, in some dark and once-unfamiliar place he thinks it might be the last time he’ll ever see him. 

When he turns and sees Junior standing by, eyes wide and teary, Tucker feels his stomach plummet.

He looks to his feet and shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry, li’l man,” he whispers. 

But he can’t tell his son he didn’t mean what he so clearly did. 

* * *

It’s like a sick joke when he sees Wash after three years. 

Wash is alive and breathing, but Tucker sure as fuck isn’t.

“Tucker?” Wash asks.

There is so much wrong. The fact that Wash checked out a diner that Tucker hasn’t walked through the doors of let alone _worked_ at in three years. The fact that Wash probably expected Junior at home with a father instead of spending most of his day in Aunt Tex’s gym. Maybe that Church should be by Tucker’s side, keeping his spirits up and making sardonic comments about the world and its unfairness rather than recluse and missing from every aspect of their lives. 

The fact that _Tucker_ should be alive and _Wash_ should be dead, but neither of those things seem to be the case today. 

But Wash settles with, “Why… Is that my suit?” 

“No,” Tucker says, and he’s surprised he can form words at all, facing a ghost. A ghost that is alive, a man lost to time and somehow back like not a day has passed. 

“No,” Tucker says stronger, angrier. “It’s _mine.”_

And Wash doesn’t understand, it’s written all over his face. Because how could he? How could anyone?

How could a man who was alive choose to let everything about him die for the sake of something that wasn’t even true?

“Are you dead?” Tucker asks – _demands,_ really.

Wash begins to respond, but Tucker shakes his head. Stops Washington in his tracks. 

“Because if you’re not then you’re going to want to be,” Tucker replies, angry and hurt and _so many things._ “If you’re anything like me… And if you’re looking for _Tucker_ … Then you’re not going to have anything to be Washington for anymore.”

There was once a superhero and a civilian and they found a life together. But it fell apart when they couldn’t keep that life together.


	42. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [RvB Angst War - Not Canon] Wash was forced to make the impossible choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @freshzombiewriter ) Angst War: Hero Time AU where Tucker dies, and Church won’t let Wash see Junior. But hey, at least the world’s been saved!!!
> 
> A/N: Everyone is determined to make this AU angsty and I find it hilarious.

He’s at the flat’s door and thinks, somewhat hysterically, _Why didn’t I take the time to shave?_

That’s the karmic laughter in the back of his brain, laughing at him and scorning and _sounds like you really fucked up_ singing as he looks at the door dispassionately. 

He should have shaved. There isn’t a reason he had to go straight from the gutters he pulled himself out of after a miserable patrol to Church’s door. He could have grabbed decent clothes instead of the first pair he found on the floor.

There’s a lot of _could haves_ in Wash’s life that sort of spiral into the withering nothing right beside him. 

He could have done anything. Today, and _then._

He doesn’t even get to knock when Church opens the door. 

“How many fucking times do I have to do this with you?” the robotic man snarls. “Swear to god, Wash, I’m not going to call the cops, I’m just going to go straight to Tex and–”

It’s such a flaccid attempt at a threat Church doesn’t so much as end his sentence as he goes into incoherent high pitched noises of frustration.

There is nothing but bile between them.

Wash misses the days when the feeling was mutual.

“I just need to… to see him,” Wash decides. “I have to explain.”

“Oh, you’ve explained enough,” Church snaps. “Actions louder than words and all that.”

There’s a part of Wash that thinks _this isn’t fair, none of this is fair._ But it’s a voice that has been gradually dying in the long nights and the stagnating apartment and the finished bottles of whiskey. 

“Junior deserves to hear it from me,” Wash says, a little more clearly. 

“I think the kid deserves more than just _that,”_ Church huffs. “I mean _fuck that noise_  and all.”

Wash is racking his brain and finding the scuffs on his shoes mildly interesting. “Does he ask about it?”

The door shuts and Wash can’t even flinch. He slides his eyes closed and turns away, ready to head down the hall. But when he opens his eyes again, his heart stops, and he sees Junior standing beside Caboose, holding hands and looking a little sheepish.

Caboose hums and scratches at his neck nervously. “I’m gonna be in trouble,” he says. “Yup. Church isn’t happy about this. But. Hi! Mister Washingtub!” 

There’s no words in Wash’s throat as he looks at them. As Junior breaks loose of Caboose’s hand and flings himself at Wash’s waist. 

And Washington – he doesn’t know what to do. His body shakes a bit, jostled by Junior’s wait ( _god, when did you get so big? how did I miss this?_ ). And he doesn’t _quite_ know how to process the squeeze from the child’s arms.

But once the gears can turn again, once his heart is thumping strongly, Wash feels his knees give and he drops down to the floor with his adopted son, pulls his arms back around Junior’s shoulders and letting the boy readjust his arms to Wash’s neck. And Wash _squeezes_ in fear that the boy’s going to slip away again. 

There’s a chattering from Junior’s jaws right next to Wash’s ear, something about how scruffy Wash’s chin is against the alien child’s skin. 

But Wash can barely comprehend it. 

Because his mind is cruelly there to remind him once again – he _stole_ this. 

This isn’t meant to be his. It _can’t_ be his. Not really, not _truly._ Not when he made the choice he did. 

Tucker should be the one here for this. 

It was such a classic choice – any superhero is familiar with it. A loved one or your city, the life of one versus lives of an entire populace. An impossible sacrifice that must be chosen.

Except heroes never _really_ choose. They win the day.

Real heroes.

Not Wash, a broken man clinging to the sweatshirt of a child left orphaned by one of the greatest fathers Washington had ever met. One of the greatest men. His–

“I’m sorry,” Wash breathes into Junior’s skin, pressing a meaningful kiss into the kid’s temple. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

Junior honks pathetically as Wash holds him back at arm’s length. 

“I’ve… I’ve thought for _months_ how I was going to explain this to you,” Wash says. “I did. It’s the _only_ thing I could think about but… But months aren’t enough. _Words_ aren’t enough to understand… the _awful_ thing I did. There’s nothing to understand because you shouldn’t understand it, Junior. No one should.” 

Shakily, he lets his son go, pushing up to his feet, feeling ready to get sick himself. 

“I’m not good enough, and I should have been,” Wash continues. “Someday someone, your Aunt Tex or someone, they’re going to say that… that I made the impossible choice. The right one. But don’t believe a word of it. I sure as hell don’t.”

He leaves, nearly stumbling into the door frame on his way out. He can’t see through the bleariness of his eyes, can’t hear past the cries after him Junior is giving. 

And he can’t feel, but he’s not been able to do that since the day he made the choice to let Tucker down.


	43. Smile for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash is not expecting this particular heart-to-heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Saintash!

There was a lot to do that night.

And Wash only _wished_ that superhero patrolling took up half of it. 

He had a curfew – Junior instated, in order to make sure Wash was able to wake up in time to take him to tryouts – and before said curfew there were at least five more streets to patrol, he had promised to check the junkyard for Church – though why he agreed to such a thing for _Church_ was absolutely beyond him – and look for a certain part, he needed to pick up dry cleaning for Donut on the opposite end of town first thing sunrise, and Tucker’s grocery list was enough to take up a full scroll on his phone.

Wash scratched at his suit’s collar as he thumbed through the list and shook his head. 

“Well, if it isn’t everyone’s favorite Blood Gulch superhero,” a familiar face drawled from behind him.

Smirking, Wash rubbed at his face and glanced toward the empty space just before Tex appeared. 

“Surprise,” she said with her usual _too-cool_ expression worn sardonically. “Odd seeing you squatting in one place for once. You’re usually all over the place.”

“I’m just taking stock,” he informed her before looking back to his phone. “Unfortunately I happen to mean that _literally_ for once.”

Tex hummed and glanced over his shoulder. “What the hell _is_ all that?”

“My to do list,” he informed her. “Turns out everyone I know needs a favor at the same time.”

Tex cocked her head, looking the list over then looked back to Wash. He expected a lot of things, but _not_ for her to start laughing, mouth split in a wide grin. “You’re so _domesticated_ , Mister Alley Cat.”

Wash blinked a few times before pointing at his chest. “I’m sorry. Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“What? I always smile around you,” she said, squatting down beside him.

“No, you smile for _Tucker_ and your _friends_ or for any demeaning comments about your _ex_ , but you don’t smile for _me,”_ he reminded her. “I’m still a stupid sidekick in your brain.”

“Well, old habits die hard,” she admitted. “Speaking of which, is it _really_ wise to joke about alternate universes around me? You never know what’s around the corner with the two of us.”

With a shiver, Wash laughed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. I should choose my words more carefully.”

He was certain the hear-to-heart was over until he felt Tex give what – for _her_  anyway – must have been a soft punch but in reality nearly knocked him over from his spot. 

“I don’t smile much for anyone,” she told him. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t thank you’re one of the cool kids. You know. _Now.”_

“Gee thanks,” Wash laughed back.


	44. The Power of Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker's walk home is interrupted by a tentacle monster. Wash isn't impressed by Tucker's coping mechanisms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. In all seriousness, the second I first got this message a few months ago, I immediately sent a message to @goodluckdetective and @secretlystephaniebrown saying that I had evidence that I had officially made it and had received a request that involved tentacles. It’s one of those internet milestones that I never realized was a milestone I needed to reach until I got it. So, I appreciate you very much for that, anon!
> 
> I also believe I deserve far more credit than I get because you guys have no idea how much personal restraint it took for me to not name this Tentacle Time. Like that was the title until the very last minute.

Kai was literally laying across the countertop, watching the crappy television set in the corner of the ceiling and munching on the leftover fries. Which reminded Tucker why they were both _amazing_ when paired together for a shift when Sheila was out of town and _terrible._ Because every stray comment he made her way about it had fallen on deaf ears.

Having long given up on sparing the counter on the midnight shift when no one was around, Tucker just went about his business, washing the dishes and ignoring the blabbering on the television.

“Dude, this is _cray-cray_ on the screen! Come out here and watch this!” Kaikaina shouted at him.

“I don’t watch the news, Kai!” he reminded her, toweling off some of the dishes. “You know what a nervous wreck that stuff makes me now? I can’t stand it! It’s better to just hear about it from Wash at home.”

“Pfft,” Kai said, waving her hand dismissively. “You’re such a whiny bitch anymore.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tucker laughed, continuing his drying. “Whatever, Kai. Let’s just get done with our shift, yeah?”

“Whatever,” she said before purposefully chewing her fries as loud as possible without any signs of moving off the counter. 

Tucker did the only adult thing he could and used the sink’s movable spout to spray his friend to her screaming discontent. 

* * *

By the time his shift had ended, Tucker decided that his powers to ignore things he wanted no part of, like the news, deserved their own category of superhero record. 

The walk home was quiet – somewhat disconcertingly so considering that it was _Blood Gulch_ and quiet did not, as it would anywhere else in the world, mean a lack of trouble but the brewing of it. But Tucker was nothing if not committed to his idea that he could pretend normalcy enough to force it in his life. 

Until a giant, slobbering and screaming monster came barreling headlong into the pavement a block ahead of him.

Tucker blinked a few times before glancing up to the sky out of curiosity for where the monster came from. 

He got no answers from there. Just more, albeit more comprehensible, screaming. 

“Tucker! Go home!” 

Blinking a few times, Tucker whirled around looking for Washington to go with his boyfriend’s voice only to have the man leap from overhead throwing a few knives at the monster’s outreaching tentacle and forcing the appendage to drop short of them. 

“What, I don’t even get asked how my day went?” Tucker asked, crossing his arms.

Wash was already taking a step forward to charge but skidded to a halt as he looked back at Tucker aghast. He threw his hands up slightly. “Right now? I just–” The superhero took a breath and tilted his head back before looking at Tucker with an ugly, forced smile. “How has your day been? Have you died yet due to inconvenient coincidences? No? Great! I’ll keep it that way! _Go home.”_

“You’re not the boss of me,” Tucker argued for argument’s sake just before he felt something thick and strong snake around his legs. He looked down, bewildered, and saw the massive tentacle trailing slime up his favorite pair of jeans. “HEY!” 

“Tucker!” Wash shouted, diving for him just as the monster yanked Tucker into the air. 

Hanging upside down, feeling as though his lunch could be threatening escape at any moment, Tucker decided it was best to go back to his owner super power while Wash rectified the situation for them both. 

So he ignored the gut twisting fear and the destruction of what was a fairly new pair of jeans, and instead remembered that weird college phase of anime perusing. 

“Oh my god, I _genuinely_ thought this would have been sexier,” Tucker marveled. “I don’t know _why_ I did – wait, fuck that. I _totally_ know why I did. Fucking anime. It gives me unrealistic expectations for _everything._ Especially hair. _Especially_ tentacle sex.”

Even the monster seemed to pause for a moment at the statement before its giant, central eye was pierced by a thrown knife and it screamed, tossing Tucker into the air with a yelp of his own. 

He wasn’t surprised by the amazing catch Wash managed in midair or the pavement roll afterward. But he _was_ surprised by the dull, blank expression on Wash’s face as they finally managed to sit up. 

“Was I thinking with my mouth again?” Tucker asked, sputtering gross alien juice and weakly sloshing it off his clothes. 

Wash stared forward at the collapsing monster and took a breath. “These things are a product of space-time interruption. So… it would make sense for me to start looking for some sort of dimensional traveler that’ll make some problems in the coming weeks,” he said in his serious-superhero voice that Tucker found simultaneously annoying and sexy.

Raising a brow, Tucker tilted his head. “Are you ignoring me?”

“I find it’s best to sometimes ignore the things I learn about our relationship,” Wash said, giving Tucker a slight glance. “You’re welcome.”

“No, that’s _my_ superpower!” Tucker argued as Wash got up. “You’re _seriously_ not leaving me without anything else, dude. Not even helpful advice?”

“Find better anime to watch,” Wash said, grabbing for a grappling hook at his belt. “Also? Those clothes are not allowed in your _friendly neighborhood laundromat_ so throw them in the dumpster out back.”

“Rude,” Tucker huffed as Wash took off without him. 


	45. An Objectionable Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash gets an unusual burglary call from Church and it only gets weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from SaintAsh!

As with most everything that involved the Reds, Wash found that the disaster was only complex in its simplicities. As in, the execution was something to be marveled when considering the Reds’ independent talents, but the way it all fell apart was less surprising then also. 

What _really_ got him was the fact that Tex had the audacity to stand on their side of the standoff with absolutely no remorse whatsoever. 

“How badly do you have to be scorned to have agreed to do this?” Wash asked her rather plainly.

“How dare you,” Tex fired back. “I am petty and ruthless enough that I wouldn’t have had to be scorned at _all_ to go along with this.”

“It’s breaking and entering!” Church yelled from behind Wash’s shoulder, having still not worked up the nerve to stand out in front of the would-be criminals himself. He then looked up to Wash and his his shoulder some. “Tell them, Wash.”

“It _is_ breaking and entering,” Wash agreed, though he was so reluctant to agree with Church at any point that each word sounded like it was pulling teeth.

“And you’re a pussy who called a superhero to save you! A superhero you don’t even like!” Tex snapped at him.

“Ugh, I hate pussies,” Donut groaned with a shake of his head. 

“Only because the other superhero I know is always too busy being a complete and total bitch!” Church fired back.

“Okay, okay! Everyone shut up,” Wash snapped. “Domestic dispute is _not_ something I came here for.”

“Domestic dispute _is_ something enforcement is supposed to deal with, dirtbag!” Sarge snapped.

Wash couldn’t help but squint. “Why do you always know so much about law?”

“You can’t make me talk!” Sarge howled. “I have the fifth amendment!” 

“I wish you’d invoke it _more_ , actually,” Wash said dryly. 

“We all do,” Grif sighed.

Simmons continued to dangle on the rope suspending him from the ceiling, his hands still clutched around the limited edition Swamp Thing figurine that made Church twitch uncomfortably as it dropped in the would-be thief’s hands. 

“I still haven’t gotten an explanation for how you guys had the time to put in this pulley system,” Wash said, waving to the disaster that was now Church and Caboose’s ceiling. 

“Actually that was already there. Pet project. Don’t ask any questions,” Church spoke up.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wash let out a long, heralding sigh. “Okay. I honestly don’t care about this so much. It’s just _really_ frustrating that less than _two weeks_ into me trying to reform the Red Dead Blood Gulch Gang, you guys are breaking into apartments with a formerly considered dead superhero.”

“Oh, don’t think of it that way,” Tex said, waving her hand. “Think of it as recon practice.”

“Duh,” Donut spoke up, waving his unsplintered arm. “I was Double Oh-Donut, Super Secret Spy. And everyone else was–”

“I said _no_ to the goddamn codenames! Quit trying to make them a thing!” Grif snapped. 

Wash squinted and looked around. “Where’s Lopez? It’s not date night. Tucker’s on shift _with_ Sheila right now.”

When the other group went deathly silent, Wash lowered his head and sighed. “Church, was there _another_ action figure–”

“Collectible figure, you asshole!” Church snapped.

“Was there another action figure you never let Junior touch?” Wash asked plainly. 

Church blinked a few times before his eyes grew wide. “Lopez made a clean break during all this with my twenty-inch Ursula, didn’t he?”

As Wash crossed his arms, the Reds and Tex began snickering. The tired superhero took a breath. “Looks like it.”

“ _Goddammit!”_ Church cried out before taking off for the door. 

“We owe this successful practice mission to our formerly superheroic associate,” Sarge cackled. “She had the genius idea of _two_ thieves at once! And also suggested that Lopez was the man for the _real_ theft.”

Growing even more tired, Wash sighed and rubbed his face.

“Don’t worry, Wash! We’ll eventually only use our powers for good and mild self-gain!” Donut tried to promise, not helping anything. 


	46. Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [noncanon] Alpha was only trying to get Tex's attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: Texas time AU where Church stays a villain because it's the easiest way to get Tex's attention. He sets up some huge plot to show off, somehow traps the hero PF sent through sheer luck then in the middle of his rant on how much Project Freelancer sucks he turns around and goes "Wait who the fuck are you? Where's Texas?" and the Freelancer has to listen to Church bitch about how he set up this great deathtrap he can't use because PF can't even bother to send the right hero

He scratched at the wig, his scalp itching with no contentment in sight. It was all Church could do to keep from plainly ripping it off at once and exposing more of his identity than he already was. 

When he heard the grunting and struggling continuing, Church bothered to look the way of the dangling superhero in need. He scowled at South – they never got along back in the academy days. 

There was a small part of him still satisfied that she couldn’t outwit one of his traps.

“In all honesty, I’m _sort_ of sorry you’re caught up in all of this,” he told her. “Really, if they had just sent _Tex_ instead of _you_ , this all would have worked out just fine. See, Tex could easily break out of those binds and move to the second trap before her blood all rushed to her head.” He tilted his head as South swayed, still suspended in the air. “She woulda made quick work of it, but we’d waste some time on banter. I’d get to discuss my motivations. You understand. These weren’t designed with you in mind.”

South turned her eyes angrily on him. “Alpha, I’m going to rip your throat out and–”

“Hey, I’m apologizing. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No, fuckface! It doesn’t!” South snarled.

Church scoffed and looked off again. “Rude. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like–” As he swept back around to continue his insults, Church was faced with the dangling rope that had once suppressed his former teammate. 

Surprised, he looked up and down. “What the!? Where’d you go–”

“Did you forget something, Alpha?” a distantly familiar voice called from behind him. 

“Aw, damn it,” Church groaned turning around just in time to see the Dakota twins touching finger tips. 

“We come in a pair,” South finished for North. “Form of _a motherfucking dragon!”_

Church pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damn it.”


	47. Teenage Hormones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church is not happy when Junior brings an unexpected problem to his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SaintAsh prompted: Okay so I'm abusing open Invitation for hero time prompts... due to some super hero shenanigans Tucker and wash are now teenagers with no memory of their adult lives. Its up to Church and Teenaged junior to Co-babysit the now de-aged adults, bonus points if you work this line from Church "you ruined my best friend, he used to awesome before you existed.'
> 
> I have a weakness for age reversals/shenanigans that can probably be blamed on the fact that my oldest TPB is the Young Justice event Sins of Youth, so this excited me SO much

Junior appeared at his doorstep and for a _moment_ , Church considered just walking away. It was no longer his fight. He had nothing to lose. And involved _Wash_ which made it just _that_ much more appealing to walk away from. 

But instead, probably for some sentimental crap reason he’d never admit to, he waited for an explanation from the alien abomination. 

“What happened?” he asked dryly. 

And when Junior shifted uncomfortably, moving back just enough to reveal what he was hiding behind his back, Church could already tell he wasn’t going to like what he was about to see. 

It still managed to be surprising, however, to see two young teens – younger even than Junior who Church still swore was like _five_ – behind him, wearing baggy clothes and annoying each other with poking and teasing.

Or, it was more like the hauntingly familiar teen with too-thick glasses and braces was annoying the lanky, awkward blonde teen trying desperately to keep aviator glasses from falling off his nose. 

“I said leave them alone!” the blonde growled. 

“I just want to borrow them!” the other whined. 

“I don’t care what you want! Leave me _alone!”_

Always the one not for drama, Junior looked to Church weakly. He might have spoke in _honks_ and _blarghs_ but Church knew a cry for help when he saw one. 

And, _again_ despite himself, Church snapped his fingers to get the boys’ attention. 

He went through academy training. He knew shenanigans when he saw them. 

“You,” he said pointing at glasses, “and _you,”_ he said pointing at blondie. “Names.”

Glasses grinned so broadly it looked like it hurt with those braces. “Lavernius!” he called out, and Church started to shut his door but Junior had already wedged his foot in the way to prevent the action.

The blonde rubbed awkwardly at his failure of growing whiskers on his chin. “David.”

“God _damn_ it,” Church moaned, still trying to shut the door desperately in spite of Junior’s foot.

After coming into the apartment and getting the full story, Church was informed that it had something to do with _magic gone awry_ and Tex was on the forefront of trying to fix it all. But that was not comforting at all considering it was her idea that Junior take the teenage delinquent versions of his best friend and best friend’s boyfriend to Church’s place for babysitting. 

Which meant she had nothing to lose in the entertainment department if she took her dear sweet time solving the problem.

And Church was stuck sitting in his favorite armchair, angrily staring at the couch as Junior tried desperately to sit between Tucker and Wash to keep them separated. 

“You poke me again I’m going to break your finger,” Wash snapped. 

“Like you could see me! It’s too dark for sunglasses, dude!” Tucker pointed out, reaching over Junior’s shoulders again to grab at Wash’s glasses. “ _Please_ take them off! I want to see them again! Please please please!”

Junior, looking more than a little annoyed, grabbed his father’s arms and forcefully held them to Tucker’s sides. 

“You made fun of my eyes last time!” Wash whined, which was more grating to Church than nails on a chalkboard.

“I didn’t make fun of them! I said they were _funny!_ God, you’re _so_ sensitive,” Tucker groaned with a big roll of his eyes. 

“Then take off _your_ glasses and I’ll take off mine,” Wash huffed, crossing his arms and looking off.

Tucker puffed out his lower lip and crossed his arms. “That’s not fair! I can’t see without _my_ glasses!”

“Good!” Wash snapped.

“Just take them off!”

“No!” 

“Yes!”

“ _No!”_

“Please!”

Church stared at them both before gritting his teeth. “ _Here’s_ an idea: both of you shut the fuck up!” he growled. When it earned him an angry look from Junior, Church rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “Or better yet? How about someone just kill me. Like _actually_ kill me this time. It would be a much less cruel fate.”

The teenagers stared at him in complete astonishment. 

Which, unfortunately, gave Tucker the perfect opening to leap over Junior’s lap and grab Wash’s glasses from his face. 

Wash took it well, in that very much like a cat he leaped onto the back of Church’s couch in surprise, nearly flipping the whole thing over. 

“Okay, you’re both getting separated. I live with _Caboose_ and the two of you are tearing up my apartment. _Think about that_ for a second!” Church snapped, letting Junior pick up Tucker like he was a toothpick while Church grabbed Wash’s wrist and began to yank him away. 

“Aw, come _on!”_ Tucker whined as he was carted off. “I just wanted to see his eyes. I can stare at them forever!”

It took a lot of effort for Church to not lose the lunch he hadn’t ate at that sentiment. And took _twice_ the effort when he looked down and realized that Wash’s entire face and neck were glowing red from the comment.

With an even more aggravated growl, Church yanked the scraggly future superhero further along toward his office. 

Washington turned and glared at him with his cat eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“You,” Church said simply. “You ruined my best friend. He was _awesome_ before you existed. And now even annoying as fuck, younger horny him is affected by your proximity.”

The teen blinked. “Sorry?”

“You should be,” Church huffed.


	48. Superheroes Don't Get Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker isn't sure what will kill the superheroes first: the flu or his impatience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from goodluckdetective: Heroes Don’t Take Sick Days: Hero Time, Wash, Tex and Niner sick all at once, Tucker drags hand down face

When he opened the door, it took everything in Tucker to not immediately turn Wash around and send him off. 

Well, maybe not _everything_ in him, because he was – mostly in spite of himself – a sucker for that pathetic pout and the worry that ate at the back of his mind when he saw just how thick the blue rings were under his boyfriend’s eyes. When those things were added to his pale complexion and the snuffling and hoarse breathing, Tucker had less of a chance than he liked to pretend. 

But he was still aggressive about it. 

“I cannot _believe_ you went out with a fever,” Tucker snapped, grabbing Wash’s hand and dragging him through the apartment. “I cannot _believe_ you went out when I told you to. _Junior_ doesn’t even test my patience anymore. And he’s a _teenager._ That’s basically what he’s supposed to live for!”

“You’re… not happy,” Wash wheezed, like it was something marvel.

“You’re observant,” Tucker mocked as he drug Wash to their bedroom. 

“Home _now,”_ Wash attempted to argue. 

Tucker shoved Wash into a sitting position on the corner of their bed. He watched as the superhero swayed with hardly any resistance at all before bending over to start pulling off his suit. 

When it took about thirty seconds to get off the first boot, Tucker let out a groan and dropped to his knees to help. “You’re useless,” he muttered.

“Not… up for that,” Wash rasped out as a joke. 

Taking a moment, Tucker thought about what Wash meant and then couldn’t help but grin before smacking his boyfriend’s knee. “Shut up, I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Bad at it,” Wash huffed before falling back to lay on the bed. He wheezed again and made Tucker think rather hysterically for a moment that it might be pneumonia. 

“I think you’re contagious,” Tucker said instead. “Which means when I get you back on your feet like a good nursemaid, you’ll have to thank me by cleaning all the sheets.”

“Ha ha,” Wash huffed sarcastically. “Laundromat humor.”

“Stop wasting energy, goob,” Tucker said, pulling off the rest of Wash’s costume and tossing it toward the laundry basket. He stood up again, ready to continue berating the superhero only to find Wash snoring already, half his legs hanging over the side of the bed. 

Which meant Tucker was going to have to literally pull him the rest of the way into bed. 

He shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “What an asshole.”

With a sigh, Tucker began to do just that when he heard the doorbell sound. 

 _That_ was a discomforting noise since Wash and Junior were home and none of their friends who would visit had enough manners to use a doorbell. Most of the time, Tucker barely knew his friends were over until he either walked into them or found his beer all gone from the fridge. 

Suspicions high, Tucker walked to the door, grabbing the bat from the umbrella stand, and leered through the peephole.

The face he saw was familiar but unexpected. 

“The hell,” he said, swinging the door open. “ _Niner?”_

But, of course, it was not as simple as _just_ Niner at his door, but she had Tex draped over her shoulders. Both looked pale, sweaty, and _snotty._

“Your boyfriend gave us something on patrol,” she wheezed.

“Patrol was hours ago,” Tucker marveled. “You _all_ kept saving the city despite the Flu from Hell? What the fuck is _wrong_ with you superhero types? Do you all not know anything?”

“He acts like _he_ knows anything,” Tex snorted as Niner and her stumbled on through the door.”

“Single parent, assholes, I’m an _expert_ at dealing with whiny babies!” Tucker snapped at them before pointing to the couch. “Get moving. I’ll start making soup and getting you guys some gatorade. You need the electrolytes.”

The women grunted and moved at a snail’s pace. 

Tucker sighed and looked to the ceiling. “So much for my day off.”


	49. Bad Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [non-canon] Tex is asked to play along, but she's never been good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saintash prompted: Angst Wart Prompt: Texas time. Church and Tex, Gwen stacy's Death A.k.a. Trying to Save the Damsel. Kills the Damsel.

She misread the situation.

And wasn’t that just the worst of it? That it could all come down to something so ridiculous, something _so_ nonsensical as the fact that she got the situation _wrong_ and that was how it all went to hell in a handbag all too fast. 

Alpha was on site. 

“I’m here,” he said, that canny noise from the floating bot’s vocalizer an old and familiar friend. 

“I can see that,” she said, barely glancing toward the bot before leaping into attack the henchmen surrounding them. 

“No!” Alpha exclaimed before flying in front of her face, forcing her to look at the oddly electric blue iris of its eye. “I’m _here!_ You need to get me _out_ of here!”

Tex took a breath and leaped into action. She should have rolled her eyes with it as well, because it was just _so_ typical of Alpha – of _Church_ – to put her into this mess and have her risking just that much more of her sanity for the sake of his ego. 

Really, what an asshole. 

The villain was some sort of trap guy. They _all_ were at the end of the day, but this one in particular had a thing for mechanical traps and elaborate hoaxes. The sort of thing that required more than brute force.

Which just made it _that_ much more satisfying for Tex when she tore the machines apart in front of the jerk’s own eyes. 

“You can’t punch your way through this one, Tex!” he howled over the speakers. “And the clock’s already started.”

“Watch me,” Tex snapped, tearing down an entire wall to get to the heart of the facility. The drywall tore like newspaper underneath her strength, earning a frustrating noise from the villain’s throat. 

A trick Tex had picked up over time when it came to dealing with villains of this particular showmanship was to walk in _without_ expectations. Any time she came in with expectations, they _always_ failed to impress her either with originality or ingenuity. 

So it was actually rather _something_ when she managed to walk through the doors she made in the walls and see something truly extraordinary waiting for her. 

Tex marveled at the large machine for a moment to the point that she even ignored Alpha’s bot bobbing in after her. 

It was already blabbering in that very _Churchy_ way about the puzzles involved the the trap and how they were going to have to go back and examine the clues – a whole lot of nonsense that Tex walked past without hardly any regard at all. 

Though, to be fair, she was giving their captor a similar amount of attention.

“You can’t merely break things and run! There are _rules,_ Tex!” the villain roared over the mic. 

“Let’s get this straight right now,” Tex said, looking toward the screen in the corner. “I will _always_ break things an save the day. That’s how this works. And that’s how it’s always going to end.”

“Tex!” Alpha begged. “I’m hooked up to that thing so listen for _one second–”_

The villain snarled and sputtered over the intercoms. “Just who do you think you are that you can address me in such a way!?” 

“You already said it, chump,” Tex said confidently, strolling to the giant machine in the center of the room. “I’m Tex.”

Alpha’s eye bot flew up beside her, shaking and buzzing with energy. “Wait! Tex, don’t!” he yelled as the villain continued to monologue and give objections. 

Not listening to either of them, Tex pulled back her fist, looked for the most important looking part of the machine, and threw her weight into it, bursting through the metal and wire like they were _nothing._ And, really, they kind of _were._ At least to her.

“You idiot! You fool!” the villain howled.

Tex didn’t pay him much mind, jerking her hand back out of the machine with a confident smirk until she heard a clinging behind her.

Surprised, Tex turned and looked as the Alpha bot rolled on the ground, lights faded out and speakers humming an unfamiliar white noise. 

And just like that, her confidence melted off of her. Tex stood upright, watching the bot then looking to the machine. “Alpha?” she asked, voice strained.

“I am _not_ a murderer!” the villain howled senselessly over the intercoms. “This is your doing, not mine! You only had to play the game – you only had to save him!”

For the first time since she arrived at Blood Gulch, Tex’s fists hung uselessly by her side. Her eyes widened as she realized just what the machine before her was.

Life support. 

Then, without bombast, the game was over.


	50. Body of Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CT calls upon her sidekick for an assist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saintash prompted: Prompt Hero time, okay more of a Texas Time. CT while investigating something get stuck in a tiny space like a cupboard,so she Calls Wash for help.

She had sat squatted in front of the cabinet for some time. Glaring into the dark space with the sort of intensity she usually reserved for dastardly criminals. Or York when he was using his powers to hide the rec room remote in obscure places. 

Ultimately, however, CT could not _scare_ the evidence into coming into her possession despite all efforts to do just that and instead she got to her feet and shook her head, arms crossing.

Loathed as she was to do it, she turned on her communicator.

“Epsilon,” she ordered.

“Yeah?” her designated sidekick asked, slight annoyance apparent in his voice. 

“Where are you?” she demanded, tone harsher than expected though she cared little to change it.

“Watching from the roof to make sure no one is coming up on the scene. Like you ordered,” he reminded her before making some sort of slurping sound.

CT’s nose crinkled behind her mask. “Rookie, are you drinking _coffee_ on a patrol with me?” she demanded.

“Hey! I’m keeping myself alert!” he argued. “I don’t know how you do this whole _sleepless vigilante_ routine _and_ manage to have morning training sessions back at base.”

“Simple,” CT huffed haughtily. “I don’t train in the morning. Teamwork is for lesser heroes. Now get down here. I have a new job for you.”

Epsilon groaned before turning off his communicator. For his sake, CT hoped it was to comply with her demands.

After a moment too long for the veteran hero’s liking, Epsilon showed up in the window of the apartment. He looked around cautiously before proceeding to step in the rest of the way. 

All the while, the sidekick was very careful as to not spill the cup in his hands. 

“Took you long enough,” she said before pointing at the cabinets. “There seems to be evidence left behind by the first responders between these cabinets.”

Epsilon looked her over before tilting his head. “Okay. Great. Sounds useful.”

CT waited for him to take the hint before reaching over and dipping her gloved hand into the coffee cup. Immediately Epsilon seized up, shoulders raising and back arching.

“Agh! Why would you _do_ that!? I’ve seen where those gloves have been!” he yelled out. 

“Epsilon, I have read your file extensively,” CT began, as if he hadn’t asked questions at all. “Arguably more extensively than it deserves. I know that among your… _abilities_ is increased flexibility. And also you are double jointed.”

“Like a cat,” he said mournfully as he looked into the ruined cup. “I can’t believe you ruined my coffee.”

She snapped her fingers to get his attention again. “I need you to reach between the cabinets and get the evidence. Collect it, and bag it,” she informed him. “I know you are capable. You’ve watched me do it a hundred times.”

Epsilon tilted his head back. “I… wow. You’re actually going to let me _do_ something for once? Without me initiating it first? I… Wait. You’re only asking because you’re short and have stubby arms, aren’t you?” 

CT felt her face get hot for a moment, but fortunately the nature of her mask prevented it from being a problem. “Are you going to say _no_ to this opportunity to prove yourself and the powers of my tutelage?” she asked wryly.

“No! I mean, of course not!” Wash countered before racing to the cabinet.

He didn’t even notice as CT took the coffee from his hands and went off to take his place on the watch. Sipping the coffee all the way.


	51. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif puts the whole team at risk with his stubbornness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saintash prompted: Okay case we haven't seen that much on them in Texas time. I suggest, Take One Down… using the red team

When he showed up at Simmons’ house, Grif expected a beer and a lecture. Not a look of complete terror once the after shakes of a world ending sneeze took over him that he got from the wiry librarian. 

“Are you sick?” Simmons demanded, as if Grif wasn’t wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. 

“No,” Grif replied dryly.

“We have a _job_ tomorrow, so I’m going to ask you again,” Simmons said, putting aside his glass of water and looking suspiciously at Grif. “And just so you know, you changing your answer isn’t a sign of weakness. It takes a strong man to overcome gutteral animal instincts we have to hide all signs of disease and ailment. Are you–”

“Would you give it a rest? I’m fine,” Grif snapped, struggling to get his jacket off. “I’m the perfect getaway driver. It’s just the pollen count, have you _seen_ how off the charts they are today? Ridiculous.”

Simmons could not have looked more unconvinced if he tried. “We can always get Lopez to drive–”

“Lopez isn’t allowed to touch the gas pedal anymore after that ‘tune-up’ he gave my baby last year,” Grif reminded Simmons with an over abundance of air quotes. “So no. I’m still driving. Unless… _you_ want to drive, of course. I trust you to not scratch the paint.”

A haunted look covered Simmons’ face. 

He was forever a changed man after Sarge had screamed at him for going the speed limit and obeying traffic signals the one time he _had_ accepted the responsibility of getaway driver.

“You should still talk to Sarge, though,” Simmons said. “Let him know you’re not feeling great.”

“Oh, please,” Grif snorted before that turned into frantic hacking and coughing into his clenched fist. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

* * *

For some reason, in his dreams, Grif heard the blaring of a long, obnoxious horn that he couldn’t get to stop. Then, without warning, the familiar broad hand of Sarge smacked against the back of his skull, forcing the driver to jerk up and awake. The horn stopped the second he no longer hand his forehead agains the wheel.

“Dammit, Grif! Get driving!” Sarge bellowed. 

“What!? Okay!” he choked out before slamming his foot on the break and sending them all flying forward into the fire hydrant. 

Police sirens became apparent in the distance and without warning, Grif realized they were thoroughly fucked. 

“Oh shit,” he said as Simmons began groaning in the back seat from embarrassment. 

“Grif! You are the poorest excuse of a getaway driver I have ever seen!” Sarge bellowed. “Donut, take the wheel.”

Grif tried desperately enough to squint past the shaky multiple images dancing in his vision. “No, guys! I’ve got this– Donut! What the hell are you doing!” 

“Obeying orders!” Donut said gleefully as he slid into Grif’s lap and took control of the wheel, driving them out of the fire hydrant and speeding off into the main roads of Blood Gulch. He then shivered and looked to his hands. “Ew, Grif. You drooled all over the wheel.”

“Better hope it’s not snot,” Simmons snapped, leaning forward. “Grif! I told you to call in sick!”

“I’m not sick!” Grif croaked back. 

“No, you’re _dead_ once I get a hold of you!” Sarge snapped.

* * *

When he woke up on the couch, Grif realized that Kaikaina had been stacking the dirty soup bowls on his stomach. Which he wasn’t sure if he should be proud of or angry about. 

“Oh, hey, you’re awake, Mister Cranky Pants,” Kai said, poking at his cheek. 

Grif looked over from the couch, huffing as he realized his sister was sitting on the coffee table and staring at him. Assumedly she had been doing that for a while.

“Why’re you being creepy as fuck?” he slurred out, rolling over and letting the bowls clang to the floor. 

“That gross old man cop that you say _isn’t_ a Daddy Kink stripper called,” she said with a pout. “He said you drooled on someone’s stick shift and got them sick.” She squinted more at him. “Big Bro, we _soooo_ talked about this when _I_ was drooling on stick shifts for money. Not cool.”

“Oh my god, shut up, that’s not what he was talking about,” Grif groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Where’s Simmons? I thought I told you to call him so _you_ wouldn’t catch death from me, too.”

“He’s sick,” she said. “Which is weird? Because he’s so pale I always just _thought_ he was sick. I kinda want to go see how _sick_ Simmons looks. I bet it’s, like, _really_ scary.” She snorted. “He’ll look like a q-tip.”

“You’re the worst,” Grif groaned.


	52. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Wash try desperately to have a regular date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Fluff Week! Hero Time: Wash and Tucker finally go on an actual date. Presuming they can actually be left alone by their friends long enough for it to count.

 

[ ](http://secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com/)

“It doesn’t count,” Tucker said in that voice that meant finality to the conversation but never actually _stopped_ Wash, so he was never certain why his partner kept trying it. 

“What do you mean it doesn’t count?” Wash asked wryly. “It’s a meal. It’s the two of us. It’s pretty much text book.”

Tucker turned around and eyed Wash carefully. Like he wasn’t able to believe that there was even an argument to be made on the subject. “Wash, I _work_ there. That food was _made_ by me. It doesn’t count as eating out if it’s at one of the two places I spend _literally_ every day!”

Unable to resist any longer, Wash rolled his eyes. “I just don’t see what the big deal is about eating out.”

“You just don’t want a million questions from the staff of the restaurant about why you’re wearing glasses inside,” Tucker countered with a snicker. 

“Or to have to drive–” Wash began only to pause as he caught Tucker’s warning glare. “Excuse me, _be driven_ to the other side of the city just to spend an hour sitting in somewhere suffocating. Why can’t we stay in Blood Gulch for dinner?”

“And eat where?” Tucker asked before crossing his arms. “I swear to god, if you say _the diner_ I will punch you.”

Wash huffed and crossed his arms as well. “Do you _really_ want to waste a Friday night off going out to eat?”

“Fucking hell, Wash, are you _paying attention_ to this conversation? Yes, yes I _do_ want to spend my night off doing this,” Tucker snapped. 

Throwing his head back with a sigh, Wash fell back against the wall. “Okay,” he said. “Because I love you, I guess.”

“I’ll maybe _not_ make the night absolute hell,” Tucker joked. “Because I love you, I guess.”

* * *

They were a mile into the city’s Friday night traffic when the phone rang the first time. 

It vibrated and jolted on the console between them and both Tucker and Washington stared at it suspiciously, waiting for it to stop. When it didn’t, they both stubbornly looked at each other. 

“Are you kidding?” Wash asked. “It’s _your_ phone.”

“ _I’m_ driving,” Tucker scoffed. “You know that’s _illegal_ , Mister Superhero.”

“You’re not driving, you’re parked because no one in this part of the city knows how to clear an intersection,” Wash grumbled before grabbing the phone and answering. “Church.”

“Washington,” the babysitter said almost venomously. 

“What do you want?” Wash asked, pulling at his turtleneck. 

“Where’s the vodka? I looked in your usual places but it wasn’t anywhere around,” the android asked over the sounds of plates scraping together and pans clattering. 

“You’re babysitting our son right now,” Wash reminded him sharply.

“Right. So I need vodka–”

Wash hung up the phone and set it back on the console on mute. 

Tucker squinted at Wash through his periphery. 

“Your best friend is already looking for my stash,” Wash explained. “Which is why I moved it to the trunk yesterday after you told me who you got to babysit.”

“Ah,” Tucker said. They moved forward another inch and Tucker tapped his fingers against the wheel before turning more toward Wash. “Did you move mine?”

There was a beat of silence before Wash reached for the phone and began dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Tucker asked.

“Your friend Kaikaina to babysit,” Wash said. “Which means you’ll have to talk to her. She still thinks I’m going to arrest her.”

“You _did_ arrest her that one time,” Tucker pointed out just as Wash shoved the phone against his ear. “Also, just to point this out ahead of time that way I can say _told you so_ later: she’s going to get just as drunk as Church. And it’ll be less impressive since she’s actually a living human body and not some asshole robot pretending to still get drunk.”

* * *

They had reservations. But they had been _late_ for those reservations so, instead, they were left to wait for a fifteen additional minutes. 

Tucker’s stomach was not satisfied with that wait. “Oh my _god,_ stop it,” he growled, looking down to it.

Wash crossed his arms. “It’s your own fault for insisting we drive instead of take–”

“Dude, it’s date night. I _refuse_ to take public transportation on date night,” Tucker admonished him with a warning look.

By the time the waiter showed them their seats, even Wash was ready to just order whatever the first thing he read on the menu was. 

At least, he _was_ until they sat down, smiled at each other, and heard a very distinctive, very _familiar_ greeting.

“Oh, _hiiiii,_ guuuuys!” 

Both Tucker and Wash froze in their seats before reluctantly looking to the table next to them and seeing Donut and Doc in brightly colored suits. They were even waving at them. 

“Oh my _god,”_ Tucker muttered.

Wash sunk into his chair. 

* * *

The restaurant had looked at them like they were absolutely nuts when they asked for the meal to go. The parking garage attendant had even _more_ to say about them sitting on the hood of Tucker’s car with bags of fancy food and the french fries they grabbed from the fast food place along the walk. 

“Is this how you expected our date night to go, Mister Tucker?” Wash asked, tilted his head back to slide a handful of fries in. 

“Not even slightly,” Tucker joked, trying and failing to cut into a stake with plastic utensils. “Maybe we should’ve cut things up properly before taking off.”

“Tucker, if you had heard one more word about veganism from either Donut or Doc while we were in there, I would’ve been bailing you out right now,” Wash reminded him. 

“I cannot believe we were lectured on morals by two criminals,” Tucker marveled, grabbing some of Wash’s fries in defeat.

“Welcome to my life,” Wash laughed, leaning in to let Tucker have better access to his food.

Tucker smirked up at Wash. “Glad to be a part of it.”

Wash just returned the smirk before giving his date a kiss. 


	53. An Offer He Couldn't Refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheila was just about to lock up for the night, too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saintash prompted: Okay Hero Time Verse, Tucker and Sheila Meeting. And for a Number... uhhh 3

“Damn it,” Sheila sighed, looking to the clock as the rain continued to pelt the windows. It was a bit blurry, even with her glasses, considering she had been up since three that morning, but there was no denying that with the storm and the time, she was going to have to close up shop once more. 

It had been _months_ since she had been able to keep the 24/7 diner awake throughout its proposed timeframe, but with still no other hands to help her at the restaurant it wasn’t as if she had much of a choice. 

With a distinct amount of aggravation at it all, she wheeled herself to the door and reached to flip the sign. 

Before her fingers could so much as graze the sign, however, the door shoved open, the bell rang, and Sheila found herself getting sprayed with splashes of rain from outside before the door closed in her face again. 

She blinked in surprise as a soaking wet man without so much as a jacket on leaned against the glass and steadily breathed. 

“Oh, man, it’s _nuts_ out there,” he breathed, whole body shaking. 

Sheila stared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sir, just _what_ do you think you’re doing out there without so much as a _jacket_ on? Are you trying to catch death.”

The exhausted younger man looked at her with a bit of a pathetic smile that did little to displace the rings under his own eyes. “Anything but it,” he replied. He then glanced toward the diner’s kitchen window. “You got coffee ready?”

“I don’t,” she replied. If she had, she would’ve made some herself already. “I’m about to close up.”

Shocked, the man looked at her almost horrified. “What? You can’t be serious! I just got here.”

“Sweetie, not all stores can stay open to your schedule,” she said with more bite than usual – the tiredness really _had_ settled deep in her bones.

He groaned and threw his head back against the glass. “This is ridiculous! I _just_ got off work with a pink slip!”

Sheila frowned and reached forward, grabbing the man’s hand and guiding him away from her door. “Watch it, will you? You’re going to break my door, throwing your thick head around like that,” she admonished, reaching with her free hand to flip the sign to closed. 

“Thick head?” he repeated, scoffing. “You don’t even know me.”

“Honey, no one has to know you to see you’ve got a thick head on your shoulders,” she offered with a small smile. “Now what’s a young man like you worried about pink slips for? Why, I bet you’re still in school.”

There was a weight to his eyes as they drifted down to his shoes. “Not after the baby I’m not,” he said lowly. “And now I’m not working either. Everything sucks. I hate being an adult.”

“Don’t we all,” she said, pushing him toward a booth. “So you’re on the market?”

Immediately, his head jolted up and there was a strange twinkle to his eyes. “Baby, consider my pants part of the free trade agreement. _Bow chicka bow wow–”_

Sheila simply turned her head and stared at him with every ounce of deadly force she could muster and watched the excitement all but whither and die from him. Then she continued toward the coffee pot. “I meant the job market, honey.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” he answered, perking up enough to put his elbows on the table. He then tilted his head. “Why you asking?”

Turning on the coffeemaker, Sheila turned to face him. “Well, I’ve got a proposal for how you’re going to pay me back for this cup of joe, if you’re interested. It involves working with food–”

“Of course it does,” he groaned, sliding down in his seat. 

Sheila stared at him expectantly. “Are you interested in future employment?” she asked him more plainly.

Almost cartoonishly, he straightened back up again. “Absolutely!” he yelped. “I mean… Yeah. If… that’s what you’re asking.” After a bit of blundering he offered out his hand. “I’m Tucker. Lavernius Tucker. But, I mean, everyone calls me _just_ Tucker so that’s cool.”

“Everyone calls me Sheila,” she said with a smile, wheeling over to his side and taking the offered hand. “And it looks like we’re about to get real familiar with each other.”


	54. Technical Difficulties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker has a computer problem. Church is not helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ( @ashleystlawrence ) Okay that Open invitation for Dumb hero time prompts, I’m abusing it again. “Look I’m not Touching that laptop I’m in a robot body, who knows what kind of Viruses that thing has from all the porn.” “are you trying to Imply this Laptop has STD’s” “I’m not Implying anything. I’m stating facts.”
> 
> A/N: hi im rena and i occasionally drag you all into the dumpster

Tucker had found that life adjusting to Church being a literal ghost-in-a-machine was strangely easy. Especially when it came to nominal tasks that he would have asked for Church’s help with already anyway.

Of course, he also still had to deal with the simple fact that Church was _Church_ and getting the former-man to do anything approaching selfless was a task for the gods themselves.

“No. As in _absolutely not_ no,” Church said firmly, arms crossed and eyes flickering with their cybernetic glow. “And that _no_ goes _double_ for the idea of me doing it for free which… Tucker. _C’mon._ Do you not respect me at all?”

“Dude, I respect you as much as you respect me,” Tucker shot back.

“So not even slightly?” Church lamented.

“Not even at _all,”_ Tucker agreed flatly. “But what the _fuck._ I moved out of the apartment and got myself replaced with _Caboose_ of all fucking people so that you didn’t have to deal with Junior being up at three in the morning. The _least_ you could do is fix my computer for me.”

Tucker made a point of waving dramatically to the laptop in question which was still showing the blue screen of death off like it had nothing else new to say to them.

“Hey, Tucker, I _gave you the option_ of letting me curb stomp the parasite and still be my roommate. I’m not sure where the blame for you making shitty decisions ultimately is supposed to go but I’m pretty sure it’s not with me,” Church replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Throwing up his hands, Tucker let out a frustrated growl that had become an unfortunate habit since raising Junior. “That _wasn’t_ an option, it was a snide remark! If you had actually meant it we couldn’t be friends anymore because you’re talking about my fucking kid. Now fix the goddamn computer, Mister Repairman-man-man.”

With his head thrown back and letting out an egregious groan, Church rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not touching that laptop in a robot body, Tucker.”

Caught off guard, Tucker actually tilted his head at Church’s declaration. “Why specifically not a robot body?” he asked.

“Because who _knows_ what kind of viruses that thing has from all the porn you download!” Church cried out.

Staring at Church for a moment, Tucker slowly turned his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Dude. Are you trying to imply that this laptop’s problem is it has _STDs?”_

“I’m not _implying_ anything. I’m stating facts,” Church said, waving to the blue screen. “Look at that thing. It’s killed by robosyphilis! It’s rotted from the porn folder to its processor! Nothing was spared. It’s honestly a tragedy you let it go untreated to this point.”

“Oh my _gawd,”_ Tucker groaned, pulling at his hair. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Shoot it in the head before it starts the robot zombie apocalypse,” Church answered. “And get a new laptop, because this one is _fucked._ To death.”

“It died as it had lived,” Tucker said remorsefully. “Wait, I thought robot _rabies_ was what started the zombie robot apocalypse. You’re saying it’s untreated syphilis?”

“Rabies is the government coverup,” Church shrugged. “It’s _obviously_ going to be syphilis. Look what it did to the president’s brain.”

“Right,” Tucker sighed, reaching over and closing the laptop. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”

“If you get reincarnated as an iPhone, I hope you have a new owner who’s less addicted to porn,” Church called to the computer before its lights went out for the last time.


End file.
